


Resentment Blossomed Flowers

by OwenToDawn



Series: Hold My Body, Hold My Breath [1]
Category: Block B, Show Me the Money (Korea TV), Winner (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Catholic Character, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Forgiveness, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religious Conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwenToDawn/pseuds/OwenToDawn
Summary: “That’s not the thing I’m the most afraid of anyways,” Jiho says, voice quiet.“I figured. What are death threats in comparison to eternal damnation?”
Relationships: Song Minho | Mino/Woo Jiho | Zico
Series: Hold My Body, Hold My Breath [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035810
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	Resentment Blossomed Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Where do I even begin with this. I had this idea months ago but wasn't prepared to put in the work. Finally, near the start of April, I started writing it and didn't stop until it was finished. It is absolutely a labor of love and I hope anyone who reads it enjoys it
> 
> The title to this is taken from the song Small Red Boy by AJJ which truly does follow the main themes of this story. It's worth a listen. 
> 
> Thank you to koochieagenda for letting me send him scene after scene to make sure I was getting across the point I was trying to make. Thank you to Bo for being my Catholic Consultant. Thank you to C for reading over some of the most important scenes to make sure the pacing felt natural. Thank you to bbymino for letting me rant the last few days as I FINALLY finished it. And thanks to Rae for letting me talk through finer plot details. 
> 
> I know this fic is a little out of date, and about five years too late, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. There will be art added at some point in the future as well. Comments are loved.

**_2005_ **

_When Jiho is thirteen, he’s doing his homework behind the counter of his mother’s lingerie shop when a man steps up, fidgeting and gaze dancing all over the countertop and wall but avoiding his mother’s eyes. He watches from under the brim of his hat as his mother asks, polite as ever, how she can help him._

_“I…I’ve never bought…”_

_Jiho almost laughs because he’s heard it all before, the way men come in and stumble over their words as they try and figure out what to buy their girlfriend. The man takes a deep breath and starts again._

_"I want to buy something for myself, but I’ve never taken my own measurements.”_

_The laugh does escape him then, a mixture of disbelief and something else that he’s not even sure what to call, but he regrets it as soon as he sees the man’s face twist into something like mortification and shame. His mother glares at him and slips around the corner of the counter, touching the man’s shoulder and guiding him deeper into the shop. Jiho swallows around a throat that feels too tight. He doesn’t like making people feel bad. That hadn’t been his intention._

_But also he’s not sure what the man expected, walking into a store and admitting that he liked wearing lacy lingerie like some sort of freak in the questionable porn his friends always laughed about at lunch. Even that thought makes his stomach churn, because he can’t get the man’s humiliated expression out of his head. When the man returns with his mother in tow, he keeps his head down and pretends to read. His eyes dance across the page but he can’t process any of it, too focused on the hushed thank you and relief he hears in the man’s voice after he pays._

_The door swings shut and Jiho wonders if he can escape his mother’s disappointment if he keeps staring at the book. Her fingers slip under the corner of the cover and shut it. He swallows again as she sits down across from at the small table, forearms resting against the edge as she leans forward and fixes him with a heavy stare that feels far worse than any confessional booth she made him walk into when he got caught doing the myriad of stupid things his friends convinced him to do._

_“Why did you laugh?” she asks._

_Jiho looks up, mind racing. He doesn’t…know how to answer the question. He doesn’t even know the answer. “I don’t know. It’s weird isn’t it?”_

_“What? That he wants to wear underwear?”_

_“They’re women’s underwear,” Jiho says, but his mother doesn’t seem impressed by his observation. “It’s not…”_

_“Normal?”_

_Jiho nods, but even coming from his mother it sounds terrible. He’s not sure how else to articulate it. His smother sighs and reaches out to cover his hands with her own, soft fingers rubbing along his knuckles._

_"You know, I have pictures of you when you were a toddler wearing a purple bralette on your head,” she says._

_Jiho flushes and almost takes his hands away to press them to his cheeks to push the heat away. “That’s not the same!”_

_“Isn’t it?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. “It’s just fabric, Jiho. It makes people feel good – not just women. Not just men. People.”_

_"But if he’s…if he’s gay…”_

_"Your clothing choices isn’t what makes you choose who you fall in love with,” his mother says. “And I don’t know if that man is gay. It’s not my business. If he wanted to share that with me, that’s okay, but I’m not here to make assumptions. I’m here to help people feel and look good.”_

_Jiho swallows the rest of his words. He’s closer with his mom than he is with his own friends and he knows he can talk to her about anything, but he’s not sure where to begin explaining that just because she doesn’t care if someone’s gay doesn’t mean the rest of the world doesn’t. She’s the one that takes him to Mass every week. She should know. But then, she’s always thought...different from what the of the grandmothers and aunties in the congregation have said._

_The last thing he wants to do is make his mother feel like he trusts the words of others over her, but at the end of the day, he’s the one who would have to deal with endless mockery if he tried to say the same things she did._

_So to avoid her criticism and to avoid placing a target on his back, he decides it’s best just to keep his mouth shut._

-.-

****

Kyung was right. This is a fucking disaster. He knew reality shows are a mess, and that a show centered around South Korea’s rap culture would be even messier given Mnet’s own agenda. He knew his own judging qualifications would be called into question and he’d run into more than one shitty rapper who would cry about how idol rappers have no skills. But this is…

He keeps his head down as he feigns writing notes on a contestant he’d passed a necklace to, frantically scribbling just to give himself some time to compose himself. The contestant is good. That’s not deniable. But it’s also the 100thrapper he’s heard today tell him his skills aren’t shit and he doesn’t deserve to be a judge. He’s not sensitive enough about it to cry or anything. He knows he’s good – he’s got the producing credits to back it up. This is just impotent rage with no target, something he’s familiar with from his own time in the underground circuit. It’s still exhausting though.

Mnet would probably pay him double what they’re paying him now if they thought they could get him on film lashing out at a rapper for pointing out his idol status. He’s not too interested in giving them the satisfaction. The other judges carry more respect than he does. He’s just like every single idol rapper contestant, showing up in an attempt to get some level of credibility the way Verbal Jint and Tablo have. It’s just…he’s a judge, not a contestant.

“Your brother is auditioning now,” one of the producers says, interrupting his train of thought.

Jiho looks up and shoves the pen in the top of his clipboard before looking across the gymnasium where the producer points to his brother who’s surrounded by cameras and San E. He’s not close enough to hear, but he watches anyways, giving the producers the footage they want. It’s better to be on their good side after all. Taewoon is a good rapper, but he doesn’t have the experience Jiho does, nor the same level of creativity, and who knows if the producers actually want his brother to make it through the first round anyways. He’s not sure what would provide more drama for them.

_Idol Rapper Zico’s brother burns out in the first round!_

_Corruption and Nepotism – Woo Taewoon chosen to be on his brother’s team!_

The potential headlines Mnet is hoping for spin through his head and he watches as San E shifts from foot to foot after Taewoon finishes before finally holding his hand out, necklace in hand. Jiho releases his breath and tucks his clipboard under his arm so he can offer a few cursory claps. He turns back to the next contestant, offering a smile.

"Sorry about that, go ahead,” he says.

The day drags on, the heels of his feet aching as he makes his way down line after line of contestants, handing out a shockingly low number of necklaces which he can’t help but worry is going to be used against him. The whole point of being on the damn show was to help Block B with promotion and his own brand as a solo artist so it’s not like he can just act without thinking about all the potential narratives that the producers and the viewers will spin out of what he does. It’s not like wearing a mask is new for him. It’s just different when there’s always a camera on him.

Black Nut is next. The paper on his clipboard says his name is Daewoong and Jiho knows the kid already has a label. Somehow, he’s earned his way into Swings’ good graces, which Jiho doesn’t think he’ll ever understand because what little he’s heard about him repulses him. Maybe he thinks he can help him grow. Jiho doesn’t see how that’s possible when Black Nut decides to introduce himself by ripping his clipboard from his hand and tossing it on the ground. It startles a laugh out of him. The audacity of the move turns his thoughts to white noise and he watches as Daewoong’s lips move even though he doesn’t hear a damn thing.

He doesn’t have to. He knows exactly what’s expected of him, so he lets himself act on autopilot, laughing at Daewoong’s antics. Watching it all play out through eyes that don’t feel like his, all he can think of is how repulsive he finds the man, all bluster and behavior that borders on harassment as he removes his pants and puffs his chest out at the camera all just to have someone mention his name in a headline. If this is the champion of underground rap, he’s not too worried about their approval. The problem is he knows that Daewoong is the outlier. And he knows there’s things about himself far worse than just being an idol that would ruin him if any of these contestants knew. He needs their approval as much as the approval of his and Block B’s fans.

It isn’t until he’s halfway down the next line that he feels himself come back more fully into his body, the lights and sounds of the crowded gymnasium making his head ache. He offers a quick nod of dismissal to the person in front of him and then glances at the producer lurking behind the cameraman that’s only a few inches from him. An apologetic smile makes its way to his expression.

“Hey, sorry, but I need to use the restroom. Do you mind?”

The producer, to her credit, smiles and nods. “Of course, by all means.”

He offers an apologetic smile to the next contestant and then jogs out of the gymnasium, sighing once he passes into the hallway and he’s finally free of the watchful stare of the cameras. It takes him longer than it should to find the bathrooms. He pushes inside and tosses his clipboard on the counter before reaching back and flicking the mic pack off just to make sure he’s truly alone and then leans forward, twisting the cold water on and soaking his hands.

A few splashes of water help push back the hazy fog that crowds the edges of his mind during long days. He takes a deep breath and lets it out before grabbing a few paper towels to pat his face down and then just breathing like that, slow and steady. A toilet flushes and the stall door bangs open. Startled, he drops the towel on the ground and stares as Jaebeom steps out, still adjusting his belt.

“You look rough,” he says when he looks in the mirror and meets Jiho’s eyes through it. “Not all what you thought it was?”

“You mic’d?” Jiho asks.

Jaebeom pops his hip out, drawing Jiho’s eye to the mic pack that sits on his belt loop with the usual green light off. “This isn’t my first time.”

“It’s not mine either,” Jiho says, unable to help but defend himself on instinct.

Jaebeom just rolls his eyes and turns the sink on to wash his hands. “Reality TV isn’t the same as a variety show. I thought Minho was your best friend?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“He went through a YG-run survival show,” Jaebeom says. He twists the sink knobs off before reaching for the paper towel. “You’d think he’d have warned you what you were getting into before you signed the contract.”

“Minho signed up too,” Jiho says.

“Oh right.” Jaebeom shrugs. “You’re both dumb then.”

“You’re here too, in case you forgot,” Jiho says, not bothering to keep the frustration out of his voice.

He barely even knows Jaebeom. There’s no reason for him to leap straight to insults over something like signing up for the same show he’s on. Jaebeom rolls his eyes and throws the paper towel in the trash before walking past Jiho, reaching out to pat his shoulder and give it a little shake, somehow exuding an energy that makes Jiho feel small despite how many inches he has on Jaebeom’s height.

“I’ve got more experience and a lot less to lose,” Jaebeom says. Then he smiles a stupidly attractive smile that Jiho’s heard way too many women scream over when he performed. He hates the way his heart flips. “I have my own company to fall back on no matter what happens. What do you have?”

Jiho swallows and looks away, shrugging off his hand. Jaebeom laughs, a sound that grates on his already sensitive nerves and it isn’t until the door swings shut behind Jaebeom that some of the tension in his chest loosens back up. He tosses his own paper towel in the trash and leans forward on the counter again. His heart thuds hard against his ribs, the rattle of it making his stomach churn and coil in on itself and he tries to suck in another deep breath to steady himself again.

One more deep breath and he finds his center, sliding himself behind the invisible walls in his mind so that the more rational part of his mind can handle the contestant’s biting words and the knowing smirks of the producers. He remembers when Dongwook came along to watch him film at a variety show under the guise of job shadowing his manager and the concerned look he’d gotten after. When he’d pressed, Dongwook had just shook his head and shrugged.

" _It’s just weird how you just become someone else._ ”

Jiho never knew how to explain that he hasn’t really been himself since he was a kid.

-.-

Filming doesn’t end until early dawn but Jiho doesn’t go home, not really. Instead, he sits on a pile of crates in the alley behind the apartment he shares with the other members of Block B sucking on a cigarette like the nicotine will somehow solve all his issues. Minho’s audition had been good. Handing an acceptance necklace to him couldn’t have come off as favoritism to anyone watching with an objective mind and that’s all he can really hope for. He’s going to need sleep. Block B has to record vocals for their Japanese songs tomorrow and his brain is already fried.

The smoldering ash of a nearly dead cigarette burns the tips of his fingers and he drops it with a hiss. It glows on the pavement and goes out a moment later. He tugs his jacket tighter around his shoulders, digging his hands deep into the pockets as he taps his foot against the concrete in a nervous rhythm. The door to his left creaks as it opens and he watches as Taeil slips out clad in plain blue cotton pajamas and a leather jacket that looks like it might be Jihoon’s from the way it hangs on him.

“There’s our fearless leader,” Taeil says, hopping up on one of the crates beside him. “You look like shit.”

Jiho snorts. In his pockets, his fingers curl tight and his dull nails bite at his palms. “It’s just…I don’t know. I get tired after spending a day of everyone telling me idol rappers are shit.”

“You knew this was going to happen,” Taeil says. “We all told you.”

“I know. I don’t regret doing this it’s just hard,” Jiho says, shoulders hunching up in a shrug except he’s too tense to release it.

Taeil sighs and reaches out to wrap an arm around his shoulders. Maybe it’s because of the shitty day he’s had, but it’s easier than it usually is to sink into Taeil’s smaller but reassuring form, resting his cheek on top of Taeil’s head as Taeil rubs his upper arm. “Didn’t mean to make it sound like I was blaming you. I just don’t get why you care so much about the credibility this might give you when we all know you’ll never make the die-hards happy. Your team could be objectively better and they’d vote against you out of spite.”

Jiho grimaces, remembering the after-filming meeting about how a Black Nut versus Mino storyline could be beneficial to the ratings. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“So. Fuck them.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck them. They all suck and they’re not going to like you anyways, so just have fun,” Taeil says. “Support Minho. We all know that’s the main reason you wanted to be on the show anyways so don’t even try to pretend it’s not. You shouldn’t be worrying about what a bunch of nobodies think of you anyways.”

“You’re brutal.”

“They _are_ nobodies,” Taeil says. “The people who don’t like you because you’re an idol I mean.”

“It’s easier said than done to write off what they say, even if you’re right,” Jiho says.

“I know.” Taeil squeezes him again before pushing him away. “Now come on. You need to sleep. I don’t want to spend twenty hours in the studio because you can’t focus.”

“Alright. I’ll be in a minute,” Jiho says as Taeil hops down from the crates and heads back for the door.

"I’m going to be counting and if you don’t come in I’m waking Kyung up,” Taeil says with a sweet smile.

Jiho rolls his eyes and stands up. “Point made.”

Taeil blows him a kiss as he holds open the door for Jiho to walk through first. “Thanks babe.”

-.-

**_2006_ **

_Jiho kisses a girl when he’s studying abroad in Japan and it’s like nothing he thought it would be. It’s not that he doesn’t like the girl – her name is Yua and she’s gorgeous and cute and when she smiles his chest feels warm. But kissing her…he doesn’t feel anything. It’s just a kiss. A dry press of lips. Like he’s pressing his lips to the back of his hand the way he did when he was younger trying to imagine what it would be like. He just hadn’t realized it was basically the same thing._

_When he mentions it to Dongwook, Dongwook’s brow furrows and he frowns, fingers twitching along his knee as he bounces his pencil eraser against his textbook where he sits on Jiho’s bedroom floor._

_"But it’s…Yua. I’d fucking blow my load immediately if she kissed me, are you crazy?” he asks._

_And that doesn’t help. His panic must show on his face because Dongwook shuts the textbook and crawls up onto the bed next to Jiho, knee knocking against his thigh as he settles in._

_“Are you just not attracted to her?” Dongwook asks._

_“I thought I was,” Jiho says._

_“Maybe you just need to kiss more girls then,” Dongwook says._

_Jiho snorts. “Like you do?”_

_He looks at Dongwook but Dongwook just smiles, wide and unashamed about his flirtatious ways with every girl in their group of friends. Jiho is less of a flirt, but he likes the way they coo over him sometimes. They think he’s…cute. He likes being cute._

_"Maybe you need to kiss a boy?”_

_Jiho blinks and stares. “I…I can’t do that.”_

_“Why not?”_

_"Because…” Jiho glances at the cross above his bed because it should be fucking obvious._

_"You know it’s weird that you think that’s the reason why and not because you don’t think you could be attracted to a guy,” Dongwook says, looking down at his lap and picking at a fraying thread of his sweater._

_The words make Jiho feel like he can’t breathe. It’s like the invisible wall he’s built around his thoughts to spare his mother and his friends isn’t invisible at all and Dongwook is knocking right on it, making everything in him shake._

_"Hey, Jiho?”_

_“What?” he asks, the words coming out hushed._

_"I’m gonna kiss you okay? And you don’t have to tell me if you like it or hate it unless you want to,” Dongwook says. “But then you know, right?”_

_Jiho nods because as terrified as he is, he needs to know. Dongwook’s hand cups his jaw and guides his head to turn and look at him head on, offering a comforting smile before he leans forward._

_Their lips press together and Jiho wishes for it to be terrible, but even when their teeth awkwardly knock together and Dongwook’s tongue slicks along his lower lip, all he feels is a strange swooping in his belly and he knows he likes it. He likes the warmth of Dongwook’s hand on his cheek. He likes the way Dongwook’s lips press to his and then part and then press again. It feels good the way Yua’s lips didn’t. When Dongwook pulls away, he feels like his breath has been robbed straight from his lungs._

_“H-How did you like it?” Jiho asks._

_Dongwook shrugs. “Doesn’t do anything for me. It’s like…I don’t know, kissing a wall or something? No offense. I just don’t really like dudes that much.”_

_Silence passes between them, but it’s anything but quiet in Jiho’s head. All he can hear is the roar of his blood in his ears and a bone deep chant of no, no, no, not me, please not me-_

_“I meant what I said. You don’t have to tell me if you liked it or hated it,” Dongwook says, nudging his leg with his knee again._

_“I can’t…” Jiho doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. He can’t do a lot of things. Can’t believe he liked kissing Dongwook, can’t believe he isn’t straight, can’t be…can’t be gay. He can’t._

_Dongwook slings an arm around his shoulders. “Okay, man.”_

-.-

“Seats!”

Jiho can’t help but laugh as Tablo dives onto the couches set out for their judging teams for round two. Jinusean stares at him with an unreadable expression thanks to his perpetually frowning mouth and shades, offering only a slow shake of his head before shoving Tablo partially off the couch and taking his own seat.

“I’m so tired of standing,” Tablo says.

“Getting lazy in your old age?” Hyukwoo says.

“Hey, watch it, we’re here to win this season,” Tablo says even as he laughs. No one believes him for a second.

“If you could all get seated, we want to start soon,” one of the producers calls, not even bothering to sound patient.

"How are you feeling?” Sanghyun asks as he sits down next to Jiho, his voice so soft Jiho almost doesn’t catch it.

“Just tired, I’m fine,” Jiho says.

Sanghyun smiles and nudges his arm as he grabs the tablet and begins flipping through the notes on the second-round contestants. “So it must be bad right?”

“What?”

Sanghyun shoots him a side look with a crooked-up eyebrow. “I have the feeling you’re the type of guy who can be drowning in work and thrive, so if you’re ‘just tired’, I’m sure you have a lot on your plate.”

The words make him feel weird but he’s not sure why. It’s not the compliments he’s used to, the ones that almost feel backhanded in the way they tell him he makes everything look easy. Sanghyun hasn’t even really complimented him. He’s only acknowledged that Jiho’s doing a lot at once, and yet for some reason that means more to him than a thousand comments about how hard he works.

“Thanks,” Jiho says.

Before Sanghyun can say anything else, a producer slides up to them, a patient smile on her lips.

“Hello, please don’t forget to have your mics on,” she says.

“Ah of course, don’t want you to miss our riveting discussion on how we take our coffee,” Sanghyun says with a flat smile and even flatter voice.

The producer doesn’t even look fazed. “I’m so glad you understand. Thank you!”

Sanghyun glances over at Jiho and they both burst into laughter at the same time, the absurdity of it all helping loosen some of the tension in Jiho’s chest from exhaustion and overwork.

Once the filming starts, Jiho finds it easier to settle into his persona, and given the skill level of some of the rappers, he finds himself genuinely enjoying the performances for the first few hours. Things don’t become unpleasant until yet another idol rapper finds themselves sinking into the floor as the flames from all four teams pressing fail heat the room up again. It’s not like he didn’t expect it. There’s a difference between being able to rap lyrics provided to you and making something else up from scratch, and not all idol rappers are actual lyricists. Jiho doesn’t hold that against them. They’re still skilled.

But the difference between them and rappers who are experts of their craft is clear.

“If this is the best idol rappers have to offer no wonder you look so good in comparison,” San E says.

Jiho almost doesn’t register the comment as being directed at him, half expecting it to be Jaebeom as the target, but when he looks up, San E is looking right at him, a smirk on his face. He’s never been more aware of cameras in his life.

“Big words coming from a guy who was on JYP’s label,” Tablo says, tone airy as he scrolls through the tablet on his lap.

“I was never an idol.”

“I’m aware of your music history, I do my best to know as much as I can about people I’m going to be working with,” Tablo says. He folds one leg over the other and hands the tablet to Jinusean before smiling at San E. “I’m comfortable with my statements.”

Jiho glances around the room. Unsurprisingly, all the cameras are focused on either San E or Tablo, and while part of his pride wants him to snap back, he’s more grateful to have the cameras on someone else. And unlike Tablo, he hasn’t looked into San E’s life all that much. He’s not even sure where his hostility is coming from. Unless…

“Just because you’re insecure of where you started doesn’t mean I am,” Jiho says, the words popping out of him before he can think them through all the way. The words are honest. Still, his goal in being on the show wasn’t to make enemies, especially with other judges, so he can’t help but regret it at least a little.

“I think you might’ve bit off more than you can chew with him,” Jaebeom says. “You might just wanna bow out now, man.”

San E holds his hands up in a pacifying gesture and a goofy smile that doesn’t match the coldness of his words. “I didn’t mean for it to get so serious.”

It’s not an apology, but Jiho supposes he didn’t really expect one. It’s harder to relax into the performances after that. Maybe he’s imagining it, but the air feels tense now, like there’s some sort of invisible string connecting him to the Team Brand New producer couch and he can feel every motion and laugh and shift of their bodies. He gets that way sometimes – hyper aware of everyone around him. Kyung says it’s the leader in him.

Jiho’s pretty sure it’s just the constant fear of the things he tries to hide being discovered that thrums as an undercurrent to every action. But there’s no way for Kyung to know that. There’s only two people in the whole world who know, and this is the last place he’d want more people to learn.

When Vernon enters the room next, Jiho tries to ignore the feeling of dread in his stomach. San E had passed him, though why Jiho doesn’t know. He’s seen the footage and he really can’t think of any reason to let the kid pass unless the goal was to embarrass him as much as possible. He might’ve chalked it up to the producers insisting on Vernon getting through. After his remarks though, Jiho isn’t sure he’d put it past San E to do just that. Once he starts, it’s obvious he shouldn’t continue. It’s obvious he shouldn’t even be there. Sanghyun hits fail before he gets a chance.

The other producers do too except…except San E. Jiho watches the timer count and waits for San E or Jintae to hit fail but they don’t, and he watches with a growing sick feeling in his gut as San E smiles. The timer hits zero. Vernon passes. Jiho doesn’t even bother to hide his shock, not when he knows it’s exactly what anyone with a rational brain would do.

“I…don’t understand,” Tablo says.

“It was bad,” Jiho says, ignoring the hurt look on Vernon’s face.

"Don’t,” Sanghyun says under his breath, almost like a sigh.

Jiho bites his tongue and watches as Vernon leaves and San E leans back in the couch with grin on his face. When he glances across the room, Jaebeom looks as confused and frustrated as Jiho feels, exchanging a look with Hyukwoo before standing up and unhooking his mic and muttering something to Hyukwoo.

“He’ll be right back,” Hyukwoo says with a patient smile. “Something unexpected came up.”

Jaebeom tugs out his phone and brushes past the producer that almost steps in his way before thinking better of it. Sanghyun nudges his side.

“Maybe you should hit up the bathroom while you have a chance,” Sanghyun says. It’s not even remotely subtle, but Jiho’s been chugging enough coffee that the excuse wouldn’t exactly be a lie.

“Yeah, good idea,” Jiho says.

He gets up and clicks his mic off before heading out a separate door, making sure he’s not being tailed before wrapping his way back through the maze of hallways towards the bathroom Jaebeom is likely headed towards. When he steps inside, Jaebeom is already leaning against the counter, thumbs tapping across his phone screen.

“What is this, Gossip Girl?” Jaebeom asks without looking up.

“What?” Jiho asks.

Jaebeom stops, an odd expression crossing his face before he looks back down at his phone again. “Never mind, not important. Why are you here?”

"You seemed pissed,” Jiho says.

Jaebeom opens his mouth and then freezes, eyes narrowing as he looks at Jiho and pockets his phone. “Did the producers send you here?”

Jiho shakes his head, turning and popping his hip out like Jaebeom had the last time they’d been in this room together to show that his mic wasn’t live. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t do that to anyone.”

“Yeah, you’re nice,” Jaebeom says, but his expression is sour when he says it.

“So are…you?” Jiho doesn’t mean for it to come out of a question, but he’s seen enough of Jaebeom’s social media posts to know there’s a softer edge to him. Well…at least when there’s women present.

“You don’t think that and you’re terrible at lying,” Jaebeom says. “So what, did you just come here to flatter me in an attempt to calm me down?”

"No I just…it’s bullshit. I don’t know what San E is doing,” Jiho says with a shake of his head. “And I couldn’t say anything out there where everyone could hear me and record it.”

“San E is playing a game because he’s bitter about where he came from and he’s got you and me sitting there not caring that we started as idols and it bothers him,” Jaebeom says. “He wants to humiliate idols because he thinks it makes him look good.”

“I still am an idol,” Jiho says.

“Is that all you picked up from what I just said?”

Jiho wonders if this is how Minho felt when they were trainees and Jiho kept getting short with his inability to comprehend things when Jiho went into long-winded explanations. “No, I got that part. You think San E is bitter.”

“I _know_ San E is bitter,” Jaebeom says. “He wasn’t just saying that shit for the cameras.”

“So what do we do?”

“We?”

“I mean…are we just going to let him do what he wants?” Jiho asks. It doesn’t sit right with him, especially when Minho’s involved. Minho has a thicker skin when they were trainees sure, but Jiho isn’t about to just sit back and let someone fuck with him the way San E had fucked with Vernon.

“San E isn’t dumb,” Jaebeom says. “What he wants is what Mnet wants. You’ll just make it worse if you say shit. Let Tablo and Jinusean do that.”

“It’s stupid.”

“No shit,” Jaebeom says. “I’m gonna need like, eight hundred shots after today’s filming at the rate we’re going. You wanna join?”

Jiho’s surprised by the offer and going from the way Jaebeom smirks, it’s obvious on his face. “Uh. Sure.”

“Maybe you can bring Minho with you,” Jaebeom says. “I’ll stop San E from fucking with him too bad.”

“I…” Sure, he could try and prevent it himself, but Jaebeom was right last time they were filming. He _is_ new to this. He’s not sure how to protect Minho without playing right into Mnet’s desire to have a fuck ton of unnecessary and hurtful drama.

Jaebeom rolls his eyes. “Say thank you.”

Jiho swallows his pride and sighs. “Thank you.”

Jaebeom snorts and heads for the bathroom door. “Wait a few minutes before you follow me or the producers will realize we’re sneaking away to talk away from them.”

“Got it.”

Jiho takes the time to text Minho a warning that things might be a little weird during his audition before he heads back, taking the long way again and offering a shameless excuse about getting lost when a producer levels a glare at him when he re-enters. Jaebeom is standing behind the YG producer couch chatting with Tablo.

"You should lay off the coffee,” Sanghyun says, voice a little louder than it needs to be.

“I’m not gonna make any promises,” Jiho says as he sits back down. “So who’s next?”

Next is P-Type which ends in a disaster literally none of them saw coming and Jiho almost leaves the room in frustration because even if was justified, even if they were following the rules of eliminating people who forget their lyrics, it’s going to look terrible. The only upside to the whole situation is San E looks just as upset. At least he’s not going to have to justify passing Vernon and failing P-Type the way San E will.

He’s been nervous all day about Minho’s audition, but now it’s just a relief. Sure, they won’t be able to sit and chat until after filming, but it’s nice just to see a friendly face and Minho’s usual infectious smile as he bounces on his feet.

“So why are you on Show Me The Money?” Jaebeom asks just as San E takes a breath as if he’s about to speak.

Minho tilts his head for a brief moment before responding. “I just wanted to do it, so I’m here.”

It’s a good answer, Jiho thinks. It doesn’t fall into Mnet’s desire to spin a narrative that Minho just wants the approval of the rap scene, even if Jiho knows deep down that Minho craves the same validation he does.

"You were on a different team from Bobby on YG’s survival show right?” Jaebeom asks, leaning forward in his seat.

Minho nods, glancing over at Jiho before looking back at Jaebeom. “Yeah, yeah I was.”

“So since Bobby came on SMTM and did well did that have any influence on you?”

Jiho swallows. Jaebeom is good – better at this than he would be. If Minho didn’t know better, the words could be biting, taking hits at him for being easily influenced and not taking the show seriously. But Jiho can see it for what it really is. He’s setting Minho up to make himself look good instead.

“I mean, I’m a bit burdened by having to prove myself in comparison to him, it would be a lie to say I’m not,” Minho says.

“So-“ San E starts but he doesn’t get a chance to continue because Jinusean cuts in.

“If you keep moving on and need to choose a producer, who would you choose?”

Minho grins, wide as his gaze flicks back over to Jiho again, smile almost going shy the way it always does when he looks at Jiho. It makes Jiho’s heart pound a little faster as he tries and undoubtedly fails to look relaxed.

"Come here, Mino, I’ll be good to you,” San E says.

The words hit like someone dropping a piece of lead in his stomach, turning his insides cold the way the way the words come out of San E’s mouth like a mocking flirtation. Across the way, Jiho watches Jaebeom’s lips curl down in disgust before he looks away even as Hyukwoo waves his arms in a ridiculous way like the display will somehow persuade Minho to choose their team.

“I worked with Zico on a team before,” Minho says, his expression morphing into something far more neutral and polished after San E’s remark. “And also I love Hi-lite.”

“Nice!” Sanghyun says and Jiho shakes himself free of the sick feeling in his stomach to play up his own approval for the camera.

As if there had been any doubt of who Minho would choose in the first place.

“Okay, but then what about your second choice, what’s your second choice?” Hyukwoo asks, giggling when Jaebeom reaches out to smack him half-heartedly in the arm and chest.

“Hey, stop it, we’re not gonna beg,” Jaebeom says and Jiho can’t help but laugh at the petulant expression on Jaebeom’s face. He’s a better actor than Jiho thought.

“Shall we hear it then?” Jinusean asks.

The music cues up and begins to play and Jiho watches as Jaebeom reaches for the tablet and immediately hits the fail button before Minho even takes a breath, the action solidifying him as the person the producers will build their narrative around for at least one episode. Jiho lets out a breath, the anxious feeling in his chest loosening as Minho begins to rap and he can really enjoy it. He knows Minho is good. He knows he’ll pass.

But even he hadn’t expected the disses that come out of Minho’s lips, elevating himself above the other idol rappers and Verbal Jint and San E both. He’s certainly throwing down the proverbial gauntlet. Jiho isn’t sure if he’s happy or mad about it, but he can’t help but laugh and smile anyways because for better or worse, he’d like nothing more than to prove the world wrong about them both with Minho by his side.

Minho finishes his audition with the usual flourish of a practiced performer to the hoots and claps of the producers. Once they settle down, Sanghyun holds his mic up to his lips before San E can.

“You rap comfortably,” he says.

“It was great.” Tablo glances over at Jiho and nods with a small smile as he speaks. He, like Jiho, likely hadn’t expected anything less. “Your lyrics were relayed quite well.”

“I thought it was much better than I originally expected,” Sanghyun says, prompting a cheer and small dance from Minho.

Jiho, not for the first time, finds himself admiring the way Minho has no problem being himself, even if it makes him look childish or silly to a group of producers and rappers who want nothing more than to see him fail. Even harboring the same secret as Jiho, he doesn’t carry it like Jiho does. He doesn’t let it burden him and press down on his shoulders and prevent him from being authentic. It makes Jiho jealous. Even if he does admire it.

-.-

**_2008_ **

_Song Minho is everything Jiho wishes he could be – honest and soft and excitable, shifting between his on-stage persona and something childish and gentle and real with an ease Jiho doesn’t understand. Minho just doesn’t hide himself, at all, not even the way most people do. Where Jiho just trades masks between the stage and off it, Minho just bares his whole self when he’s around his friends and even when it results in people abandoning him, he only spares them a few tears and shrugs._

_“If they don’t like me that’s their problem,” he says when Jiho asks. “I learned that from you.”_

_And Jiho isn’t sure how the fuck Minho learned that from him when he’s never stopped lying._

_The longer they spend together, him and Kyung both working meticulously on Minho’s rap skills, the more Jiho wonders how strong his walls are. Minho is dumb and naïve in a lot of ways, and yet Jiho feels like every hour they spend together, every moment Minho leans into him and jokingly bats his eyelashes and calls him Oppa, is slowly chipping away at his resolve. He’s not in love but he certainly feels something. He finds himself hastily building more walls with each day, stamping out the fires of feelings that look too much like attraction so often that he feels exhausted and starts wondering if he should put more distance between them. Well. As much distance as he can when they’re both trainees._

_But that thought tortures him just as much. He doesn’t want to be away from Minho. His friendship makes him happy. Hell, just seeing his stupid smile makes his whole chest swell with warmth. It gets to the point that the guilt eats away at him at night. His heart races so fast and loud he wonders if Kyung can hear it a few feet away in his own bed. Closing his eyes becomes dangerous. He can control his thoughts all he wants when he’s awake, but when he’s asleep there’s nothing to stop him from dreaming of Minho’s lips against his._

_More than anything, he wants to throw himself at Dongwook or his mother and beg for help, but they’re too nice. They’d…accept him. His mother for all her dutiful attendance alongside him at Mass never seems to have any issue embracing people despite their sins and he knows it’s wrong. It’d be so easy to let her tell him it’s okay. But he knows better._

_So he goes to confessional instead, pouring the words out between tears and panting, panicked breaths and the priest listens with the usual stony silence. Confessional has never felt all that rewarding to him. Usually the priests seem more bored than invested, but they offer what he needs to earn forgiveness and that’s what matters. This time though, the priest doesn’t say anything for a long minute._

_Then…_

_“The thoughts are not the sin. It’s the actions,” the priest says. “And you have not confessed to anything here that requires forgiveness.”_

_Jiho feels like the rug has been pulled out from underneath him as relief washes over him, soothing but abrupt in the way it leaves him reeling. “I haven’t?”_

_“Action is the sin here. Keep steady and don’t give into temptation and you’ll be fine. And if you need, I will always be here,” he says._

_It’s not the closure he expected, but it’s a closure he can live with. For the first night in months, he goes to bed without fear, no longer terrified of the traps his own mind leaves for him to stumble into. He’s an idol trainee. He denies himself things he wants all the time – this is no different. It’s not like Minho’s gay anyways._

-.-

It isn’t until after the disaster of the cypher mission round that they’re able to arrange going over to Jaebeom’s for drinks. With the way Minho and Jiho’s schedules are, it’s borderline impossible. It’s almost a relief that they waited though. As emotionally tense as the second round had been, by the end of the day of filming for the fourth round, Jiho’s pretty sure he can feel his brain leaking out of his ears. 

The first thing Jaebeom does when they enter his apartment is hold out a small plastic bucket. Minho glances at Jiho who just shrugs in equal confusion.

“Phones off and in the bucket!” Jaebeom says. “I refuse to be responsible for questionable social media posts or leaked conversations because we all got too drunk.”

“How responsible,” Minho says, sliding his phone out of his pocket and powering it down before dropping it in.

“I’m not planning on getting that drunk,” Jiho says even as he follows Minho’s lead. It’s odd how naked he feels without the familiar weight of the phone in his pocket. Now that he thinks about it, he can’t remember the last time he went without it. It feels…nice.

"That’s what they all say,” Jaebeom says. He drops his own phone and grins at them both before walking further into the apartment and sliding the bucket in a cabinet under the sink.

He’s dressed more casual than he was during filming – silk shorts with a Gucci logo and a soft-looking knit grey sweater that looks like it could be off any cheap department store clearance rack. Jiho feels over dressed in his Balenciaga pants and Givenchy sweater. Though he’d never admit it to anyone, on some level he wants to impress Jaebeom. He wants to be in Jaebeom’s position. He wants his own label, his independence, his ability to produce whatever he wants without also needing the approval of whoever signs his paychecks.

All things Jaebeom has. All things that if he plays his cards right, if he plays his cards like Jaebeom, he can also have.

Sure, he might be here to unwind, but he’s not naïve. He knows this is a networking opportunity too if he wants it to be, but given the fully stocked bar Jaebeom leads them to in a spare room off the living room, he doesn’t think Jaebeom wants to do anything but get drunk.

“I need one of these,” Minho says, bouncing his way behind the bar and then striking an aegyo-filled pose that has Jiho and Jaebeom both cackling.

Jiho ignores the way the neon pink AOMG logon on the wall behind the bar casts Minho in a soft glow and makes desire curl low in his gut.

"Not quite the hot model I usually prefer behind the bar, but you’ll do,” Jaebeom says as he steps around the bar counter and Jiho hears the click of a fridge door opening as he bends down. “What do you want to drink, Jiho?”

“Something with alcohol.”

"Dongwook says Jiho doesn’t have any taste so I should never give him anything expensive. He won’t appreciate it,” Minho says, laughing when Jiho rolls his eyes as he heads for the luxurious looking suede couch facing a wide screen TV and a speaker system that probably cost Jiho’s paycheck for the month.

“Oh what, and you do?” Jaebeom asks, straightening back up.

Jiho watches as Minho sorts through bottles of whiskey and vodka and bourbon and soju on the bar counter, motions quick and efficient. Jaebeom sets a can of Hite pale ale on the counter and assesses Minho’s work.

“Cheapest to most expensive,” Minho says, then grabs one at the far end where Jiho assumes the expensive ones are and a shot glass from below the counter. “Jiyong said my taste sucked and made me learn.”

“Good to know they’re teaching you kids valuable things over at YG,” Jaebeom says with a snort and Minho just beams at him in response.

Minho pours himself a shot and knocks it back before pouring another. Jaebeom grabs a battle of soju from the middle of the line-up and a few shot glasses of his own before joining Jiho in the couch and handing him the beer can. Jiho clicks it open and sucks the foam that bubbles up before taking a few gulps. He can feel Jaebeom’s gaze on him, but when he meets his eyes as he finishes swallowing, he finds himself unable to figure out the look Jaebeom’s giving him. Then Jaebeom looks away and lines the shot glasses up and starts pouring soju.

Jiho takes the shot glass offered and downs it before holding it out for a refill, savoring the burn of it and the way it hits his mostly empty stomach. Maybe getting super drunk is a good idea.

-.-

Getting super drunk is a terrible idea. Especially without his phone. He hadn’t realized how much the threat of getting caught or filmed doing something he shouldn’t be kept him from letting his guard now. But now he’s drunk and Minho’s doing 2NE1 choreography with more coordination than he has any right to have when he’s had that many shots and Jiho can’t stop staring at the way his hips move. Next to him on the couch, Jaebeom cackles and clutches his stomach as Minho drops to the ground and bounces before sliding back up and nailing the ending pose.

The video stops and plunges the room into silence outside Jaebeom’s laugh and Minho’s drunken and slightly slurred insistence that _of course he knows the choreography._

“Hoony is better at it though,” Minho says, holding his hand out and making a grabbing motion until Jaebeom hands him a bottle of water.

“Hoony doesn’t have the hips to pull it off as well,” Jaebeom says.

Minho snorts and coughs on a swallow of water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he laughs. “I didn’t realize you were examining our figures so much, CEO Park.”

"Fuck you, I’ve got eyes I can look,” Jaebeom says. He pours another shot of soju and throws it back before setting the bottle and glass on the table. “Fucking One, with his dumb smile. Is that something they teach idols now? How to look fucking devastating with one look?”

“Like you don’t smile the same way,” Minho says, and something about the way he and Jaebeom look at each other sets alarm bells off ringing in Jiho’s head but his brain is too slow from all the alcohol to process it. “One is prettier than me. His smile made me…” He cuts himself off with another sip of water and shakes his head. “Whatever. He’s straight.”

"A fucking waste,” Jaebeom says.

Jiho stares at them. “What.”

Jaebeom looks over at him, the disapproving curl of his lips making Jiho feel like he’s had a bucket of ice water dumped on him. “Are you-“

“Did you tell Jiho?” Minho asks. “Like explicitly?”

“I thought it was pretty clear why I invited you both,” Jaebeom says.

“What’s going on?” Jiho asks, a wretched combination of fear and something else clawing up to his throat and making the words come out strained.

“I figured we’re all a little bit gay so we could hang out and relax together, you know? And not have to worry about hiding it,” Jaebeom says. “Minho seemed to get it.”

“Jiho isn’t-“

“I’m not gay,” Jiho says.

Jaebeom stares for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound hitting Jiho’s ears sharp and grating, like Jaebeom’s twisting a knife through him. “Holy shit.”

“It’s not funny,” Minho says, setting the water bottle down on the coffee table.

“It’s not a sin if you don’t act on it,” Jiho says in a rush, the words spilling out of him before he can stop them and fuck he wishes he had his phone because maybe then he’d still have some sort of self-control. “I’m not gay if I don’t do anything.”

“Guess those tattoos aren’t just for art then, huh?” Jaebeom shakes his head and grabs the soju bottle, skipping the shot glass and going for a drink straight from the bottle.

“No, they’re not,” Jiho says. Minho won’t look at him. “You’re gay?”

“I’m bi,” Jaebeom says. “I couldn’t fake that shit are you kidding? I got enough shit for being a pretty boy growing up, I wasn’t about to give anyone anymore ammo by mentioning I liked dudes too. Easier to just pretend to be straight. At least I like women.”

Which. Yeah. Jiho isn’t sure he could fake being into women, and the way Jaebeom’s whole image seems to be built around it…that can’t be faked. Not well at least.

Jaebeom passes the soju to Minho and Jiho can’t help the way his gut twists with guilt when he watches Minho takes several swallows of his own. Like Jiho’s presence is impossible to endure without it.

“Why did you think I was gay?” Jiho asks.

Both Jaebeom and Minho look at him then and Jiho regrets asking from the mixture of pity and frustration and in Jaebeom’s case, disappointment, that he sees in their eyes.

“You try too hard,” Jaebeom says. “And then you look at Minho like you’re planning a fucking wedding.”

“Is it that obvious?” Jiho asks.

Minho heads back for the bar, stumbling a little before he begins to look through the bottles he’d organized earlier.

“Nah,” Jaebeom says. “Most people are too dense to think anyone is actually gay, especially because idols just do that shit to makes girls scream and freak out, so they just think it’s all like that.”

“So how did you know?” Jiho asks, voice sharper. “For real, not just some vague shit about me trying too hard.”

“I don’t know it’s a fucking hunch,” Jaebeom says. “Jesus, you’re more uptight about it than I am. Calm down.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to calm down when you’re both acting like it’s obvious that I like…guys,” Jiho says as his frustration mounts and makes his face feel flushed. Maybe it’s the alcohol.

“I said it’s obvious you like Minho,” Jaebeom says as he gets to his feet. “Not that it’s obvious that you like guys.”

“Leave me out of this, talking to him is like talking to a brick wall,” Minho says. He bends down to start digging through the fridge.

His words are biting and Jiho hates that he has no one to blame but himself for the hostility Minho feels towards him when it comes to this topic. Jaebeom glances between them and then shakes his head.

"I can’t believe you two are stupid enough to go to a reality show with this much unresolved bullshit between you,” Jaebeom says.

“Jiho is very good at compartmentalizing,” Minho says. There’s a can of Guinness in his hand when he straightens back up and he still doesn’t look at Jiho. “I mean it’s been almost four years since he told me he can’t be with me because it’s a sin and most people don’t even know we had that fight.”

“Really?” Jaebeom leans against the counter, lips twisted down in a frown. “How is it that I have the reputation for being the asshole and not you? At least I’m not telling my best friend he’s going to hell.”

“Fuck this,” Jiho says, something in him snapping as he lurches to his feet.

He doesn’t know if he’s angry or humiliated or something else, the feelings contorting together in a sickening mixture that makes his insides feel dirty, like he’s coated them with tar that’s rotting him from inside out. Then again, he always feels like that. It’s just worse now.

“Don’t forget your phone!” Jaebeom shouts after him as he heads for the door.

Jiho slams the door behind him.

-.-

**_2011_ **

_It’s two months before debut when he walks in on Jihoon and Minho in the practice room. Jihoon has Minho pressed against the mirror, their lips pressed together in a messy kiss as his hand slips under Minho’s tank top to touch his sweat-slick skin. For a moment, Jiho thinks Jihoon’s the aggressor. Then he sees Minho arch into Jihoon, watches his head tip back as a soft whining noise escapes him, watches his fingers curl against the back of Jihoon’s neck, and he feels like he can’t fucking breathe._

_"What the fuck.”_

_He’s not sure who’s said the words. It sounds like him, but he doesn’t feel like he’s in control at all, like he’s been shoved back behind those walls he’s so carefully constructed and it’s someone else in control. He feels himself move, sees Jihoon and Minho skitter apart. Sees Minho and Jihoon look at him with equal looks of fear, feels his lips twist around venomous words and insults, and he wants them to stop but he knows he has to. It’s for their own good – and his. This close to finally achieving everything they’ve worked for and they’ve almost ruined it over something as stupid as a desire for each other._

_Minho leaves in tears. Jiho hopes he never remembers what he said to make Minho look at him like that. Jihoon, somehow, remains calm and stares at him with a defiant glint in his eye and a stubborn set of his jaw._

_“You’re an asshole,” Jihoon says._

_“Tell me I’m wrong,” Jiho bites back. “You two could ruin everything we’ve worked for.”_

_"You could have too.”_

_Jihoon walks out before Jiho can ask him what he means. It’d be a stupid question anyways. After all, Jihoon’s just doing what Jiho’s wanted to do the whole fucking time._

-.-

He wakes up the next morning with a head splitting migraine and vertigo so intense that looking at his phone makes his head spin. There’s a slew of unread messages blinking at him from the notifications when he taps the screen to check the time.

_Jaebeom: you’re a dick but I’m not gonna tell anyone about we talked about (Sent 3:28 AM)_

_Minho: we don’t have to talk about it (Sent 3:32 AM)_

_Jihoon: you’re a fucking asshole stop fucking around with Minho’s head (Sent 3:49 AM)_

_Seriously fuck you (Sent 3:49 AM)_

_You’re a dick (Sent 3:49 AM)_

_I’m staying somewhere else this week (3:50 AM)_

_Unknown: hi. It’s Daniel. Tablo. I don’t know if I ever told you my real name? Anyways. Call me when you wake up. We need to talk (Sent 8:03 AM)_

-.-

He meets Daniel at a small café with an entrance tucked in an alley several roads away from the main streets. Despite not having any windows, the smell of coffee and baked goods combined with the warm lighting and comfortable looking chairs makes the place feel inviting and cozy. Or at least it would if his stomach didn’t feel like it was still half full of alcohol. Daniel is waiting for him just inside the entrance dressed in jean shorts and a black t-shirt with the faded logo of some American band on the front and he smiles, warm and friendly, when he sees Jiho.

“You look terrible!” he says, tone light as he throws an arm around Jiho’s shoulders and guides him to the counter.

“I drank with Jay Park,” Jiho says in way of explanation.

“So I heard,” Daniel says before looking at the barista. “I’ll have a small cappuccino please. You?”

“Large coffee. Black.”

Daniel releases him as the barista rings them up. “You’re paying.”

Jiho nods. That…that’s fair. He knows this isn’t going to be a friendly chat. Starting from the moment he stepped inside Jaebeom’s apartment, it’s like all his worst nightmares are coming true one after the other. People _know_. They know the thing he’s spend years hiding and he didn’t even need to tell them because it turns out he can’t hide things as well as he thinks he can. And on top of that, people he admired…people he admired and thought he’d begun to earn the respect of aren’t happy with him.

Daniel gets them a table in the back corner of the café even though there’s not really anyone to hide from considering the place is empty. Jiho brings their drinks when they’re ready.

As he slides into the chair across from him, he waits for the familiar panic any time he’s ever talked with Minho about this sort of thing to set in, but it doesn’t come. He’s just…tired.

“So what did Minho tell you?” Jiho asks.

“Just the basics, but that’s not what I want to talk about first,” Daniel says. He takes off his shades and leans forward on the table as he stirs the foam around before setting the spoon in the little plate the mug rests on. “I don’t mean to make you sound like a child but by chance were you aware of what happened to me back in 2010? Were you paying attention to the media?”

Jiho sips at his coffee and thinks. “Vaguely. I was really concentrating on our debut that was coming up, but I remember something about people saying your degree was fake.”

Daniel laughs, but unlike the laugh Jiho’s gotten used to hearing during the show filming, this is bitter. It makes his chest ache to even hear. “Sorry, it’s just weird to me that one of the most traumatizing experiences of my life is barely in public memory these days.”

“I…”

“I’m not done talking,” Daniel says, tone firm but not mean. “What you remember as a brief scuffle about whether or not I actually got my PhD was a several months long harassment campaign where my life, my wife’s life, the lives of my family and friends and old classmates was being threatened on a regular basis. I stopped eating, I couldn’t write music or lyrics, and walking outside left me feeling like I could lose my life at any moment.”

Jiho swallows a gulp of coffee, heart pounding in his chest as Daniel talks. He hadn’t known it was that bad. He’s seen that sort of hate before and made his fair share of apologies, but never over something that had been a complete and total lie. Seeing Daniel talk about it so matter-of-factly across the table from him, it’s hard to imagine there was ever a time that he feared stepping outside because of the constant death threats.

“I became incredibly suicidal. I mean, at that point no matter how I often I pointed to the truth and how many people vouched for me, they would just become targets themselves. Faced with that, it’s hard to tell yourself it’s worth staying around when your presence brings so much pain, right?” Daniel pauses to sip at his cappuccino before looking back at Jiho. “Things got better. We filed police reports, we went to California, we proved I was who I said I was and I graduated with the degrees I said I did. The truth won, eventually. But I still couldn’t get on stage.”

This hadn’t been in the papers – at least not the ones Jiho had glanced at. He’s not sure how to wrap his mind around a world where Tablo stopped performing, or worse.

“Therapy and long talks with family and friends eventually got me to a place where I could again. It worked out. But I haven’t been able to shake it entirely. All I could think about was what about someone who didn’t have the truth to fight back with? What if the thing they were all cutting someone apart with was the truth? That question bothered me,” Daniel says.

“But…if someone had forged their degree they should be criticized. Not death threats obviously but…” Jiho silences himself with another sip of his coffee.

“You know as well as I do that people get dragged through the mud for things they shouldn’t,” Daniel says. “Just look at Minho.”

And yeah, Jiho can’t dispute that. He’s not dense either. He knows Daniel is talking about him and the secret he desperately hides from everyone because he knows his career would be destroyed if it got out.

“I don’t get what you’re trying to say,” Jiho says after a moment, gaze down and focused on the contents of his own mug. “If you know how bad it could be…why would anyone willingly go through what you did? Isn’t that the whole point of what you said? That it’s unbearable?”

“That’s part of it, sure,” Daniel says. “But we all keep parts of our lives secret from the public even though those closest to us know the truth. What happened to me doesn’t have to happen to you, Jiho.”

“What do you mean?” Jiho asks. “I’m not going to…fuck I’d never let the press find out about this, are you kidding? Why do you think I turn it into so much of a joke whenever I have a chance?”

Daniel holds his hands up in a pacifying gesture and Jiho lets out a breath, trying to relax. “That’s not what I meant. I mean you can be honest with yourself and your friends without outing yourself or anyone else to the whole world. You don’t have to deal with the media tearing you apart over something so personal if you don’t want to. That’s all.”

“That’s not the thing I’m the most afraid of anyways,” Jiho says, voice quiet.

“I figured. What are death threats in comparison to eternal damnation?”

If it had been anyone else, the words would’ve stung in their sarcasm, but Daniel doesn’t sound sarcastic at all. In fact, when Jiho finds the will to look up and meet his gaze, he’s met with a look that’s almost warm with its understanding.

“Yeah…” He inhales, sharp, uncomfortable. “I don’t mean to say what you went through wasn’t bad, it’s just…it ends eventually. Eventually everyone moves on, or they forget, and no one’s going to punish you for the truth because the truth was on your side. That’s not true for me.”

“Says who?”

"Says God.”

The words come out sharper than he means for them too, but maybe it’s the hangover, or the way Jaebeom had seemed disgusted with him for siding with God over his and Minho’s baser desires. Daniel doesn’t seem offended the way Jaebeom was, or the way his mother sometimes is. As if it wasn’t her taking him and Taewoon to church since they were born.

“Does he?” Daniel goes back to stirring his cappuccino, gaze focused on the way his drink swirls. “I’m not sure I read anything in all my faithful years of bible study that I could pin down as definitively stating it’s wrong, even if what I went through has made me lose that faith.”

"You must not have read very hard.”

“I could debate you on that, but I have no interest in tearing you away from your faith even if I think the way priests and pastors twist scripture to fit their own agenda is foolish at best and deadly at worst,” Daniel says. “Faith is important to have. But there’s a difference between what God wants and what your local priest says.”

"There’s not supposed to be,” Jiho says. “That’s the whole point of becoming a priest in the first place.”

"But humans are messy and broken and full of sin, and you know as well as I do how many sins humans commit in the name of God,” Daniel says.

Jiho takes another drink of his coffee. He can’t really argue with Daniel’s point, as much as he wants to. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Because everything he believes falls apart in the face of the simple fact that for hundreds of years, priests and nuns have violated their sacred laws without remorse and still were believed to have entered the kingdom of God upon their death.

“I think you have to decide who you actually believe in,” Daniel says.

“What?” Jiho looks up again, frowning.

“Is it really God you’re putting your faith in, or a priest?” Daniel asks. “And if it’s not eternal damnation that you fear, and public outcry is temporary, what are you really afraid of?”

“I…”

“You don’t have to tell me. I just want you to think about all of that,” Daniel says. He smiles, warm and genuine. “I know it’s a lot, but I think you owe Minho this much at least, don’t you?”

Jiho nods. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

-.-

“Are you okay?”

Jiho jerks in his studio chair, flushing when he sees Sanghyun staring at him in the spare chair with a look of concern. “Sorry, I didn’t…sorry, could you repeat what you were saying?”

“I was talking about the order of how we do the songs,” Sanghyun says. He sets his phone on Jiho’s desk and spins in his chair to face Jiho head on. “But maybe we should do this another time.”

“It’s fine, sorry,” Jiho says.

Sanghyun looks like he’s going to argue for a moment but then he sighs and grabs his phone again so he can keep taking notes. “I was thinking we could open with your Tough Cookie single, both to give you a spotlight for it and because honestly, it’s a good way to warm the crowd up for the higher energy songs we can do together.”

"That makes sense,” Jiho says.

“Do you want to do the whole thing?” Sanghyun asks. “I know it has that line in it, and we could always transition to a different song before we reach it.”

“It’s fine,” Jiho says. “Mnet will just censor it anyways.”

Sanghyun stops in his typing and looks up at Jiho. “I’m cool with it if you are, but I figured after everything that happened you wouldn’t want to use it.”

“If I don’t say it, people will notice and then they’ll just criticize me for not using it,” Jiho says with a shrug, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach as he feigns a nonchalance he doesn’t feel. “It is what it is.”

“Okay, San E,” Sanghyun says.

“What?”

"You just didn’t seem like the type to want the approval so badly you’d use language you know hurts people,” Sanghyun says.

Jiho stares, mind whirling as he tried to figure out what Sanghyun knows about him, about Minho, without asking. He doesn’t think Daniel or Jaebeom would go blab. They’re both smarter and better than that, but then Minho wasn’t as careful as hiding the fact that he was gay as Jiho was. There’s no way to know without asking. Worse than that, there’s no way to ask without outing himself, so he searches for a different response instead.

"The whole point of this show and that song was to gain legitimacy,” Jiho says. “That’s why I agreed to it. I want to transition from K-Pop not because I’m ashamed of it, but because I can’t accomplish what I want to in that particular part of the industry. Offensive lyrics get me that.”

“Being offensive isn’t the only way to make a career,” Sanghyun says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m okay with doing it if you are, it’s your song. It’s just worth considering if that’s the image and type of fanbase you really want to cultivate.”

“Thanks,” Jiho says, then winces from the way his own exhaustion makes him sound disingenuous. “I mean it. I’m grateful for any feedback you want to give me, even if I don’t agree.”

“You’re welcome. You should have faith in yourself, not the image people want you to portray. Authenticity is what will attract the right people to you.” Sanghyun smiles and kicks the wheel of Jiho’s chair. “Now let’s finish out this set list so we can sleep.”

-.-

Sanghyun’s words play like a loop in Jiho’s head as he stares up at the cloudy night sky, sucking in smoke from the dying remnants of a cigarette he should’ve put out thirty seconds ago. Jihoon still isn’t sleeping in their dorm and it’s been nearly a week since his poor decision-making skills to drink with Jaebeom and Minho. No one knows why Jihoon’s gone but him. Jiho isn’t sure what excuse Jihoon gave but no one questions him or asks him about it, and Jihoon still shows up for practice and acts like nothing is wrong. Jiho hates that they’re both so practiced at that. Some fucking leader he is.

He drops the cigarette and crushes it beneath his boot before exhaling the remainder of the smoke, watching it waft through the air and vanish. He thinks about Jay Park the performer, the CEO, a man at the top of his game with rappers clamoring to be signed to his label even as they still spit bitterly upon his past as an idol. Jay Park swaggers on stage and brags about women and money and cars and women again just for good measure. And he’s bi. He likes men. He hides it not from shame but out of necessity. It’s a calculated move completed with a coat of paint to disguise himself as every woman’s desire and the persona every man in the hip-hop scene aspired to.

He thinks about Minho in the second round, rapping dismissively of men who pretend to treat their girlfriends like shit for clout and respect from other men. In hindsight, he wonders if that line is less about the hip-hop scene and more about him – the best friend that lets slurs slip from his lips in a desperate attempt to scream that he’s just like everyone else. It’s not something he can even be mad about. Jaebeom is right about that much. It _is_ shitty to keep insisting that people who act on their desires are damned. Even if he believes it, it’s better if he keeps it to himself instead of reopening that wound again and again. He’s lucky Minho never ratted him out to his mom. The look she’d give him.

“Fucking shit dude, how are you still awake?”

Jiho almost falls off the crate he’s sitting on. He hadn’t even heard Kyung open the door. “You scared me. Why are you still up?”

Kyung runs a hair through messy bed hair and covers a yawn with a hand covered by a too long jacket arm. “Had to piss and noticed your keys and shoes were gone. Taeil said you’ve been smoking a lot when you can’t sleep.”

Jiho shrugs as Kyung lets the door shut behind him, wrapping his arms around his chest. “Yeah. Sorry. Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Does it have to do with Jihoon refuse to sleep in the dorm?”

“I…sort of? Not directly,” Jiho says. He scuffs his shoe against the cigarette butt. “It’s fine. I’m working on it.”

Silence stretches between them and Jiho bites at the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying anything stupid. He’s done that too often lately. Kyung sighs, loud and dramatic, and then does it again until Jiho finally looks over at him.

“You know I tell everyone you’re my best friend, but I don’t even know why anymore,” Kyung says. “You never tell me anything, you never have. Not about important shit anyways, not until it’s almost too late.”

Jiho ignores the twist of pain the reminder causes. His leadership got them trapped in a horrible contract with a man who ended up taking his own life when Jiho attempted to take legal action to fix it, and it’s been years but that doesn’t make the guilt go away. It’s not like he’d had a choice. But he’d also insisted on handling it himself until it had spiraled so far out of control that there was no fixing it.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for-“

“I don’t care about it anymore and I don’t blame you for it. We were all you and stupid and thought we were adult enough to know how to handle a criminal CEO,” Kyung says. “That’s not my point anyways. My point is that I’m supposed to be your best friend and I can’t do my best friend duties if you insist on doing everything on your own.”

“It’s not…this isn’t going to interfere with Block B or anything, it’s just my own shit,” Jiho says. “Jihoon isn’t going to quit.”

“Fuck Block B, dude, I’m more concerned about you,” Kyung says. “You don’t just look tired these days you look…fucking sad, shit, I don’t know.”

Jiho looks at Kyung and for a moment, he can feel all the words clawing their way up his throat, struggling to make his lips and tongue move to make all the secrets spill out. He realizes all at once that he’s never actually told anyone. He’s just confirmed what people have guessed. He’s never said it himself outside a confessional booth and that’s not the same, not even close. Kyung stares at him, concern apparent in his expression. Jiho exhales and shakes his head.

"I’ll be fine.” The words come out robotic, tried and true. He’ll be fine. They’ll be fine. As long as he doesn’t do anything stupid, as long as he keeps Minho at an arm’s length, everything and everyone will be fine.

“Shit,” Kyung says. “You’re fucking impossible.”

“I’m-“

“Don’t. Stop fucking saying you’re sorry,” Kyung says, expression pinching up like he’s not sure if he’s angry or about to cry. “I just want you to stop hiding shit from me and be my friend.”

Jiho bites his tongue until he tastes blood to stop another useless apology from escaping him. Kyung watches him for a moment longer before opening the door and leaving him alone. He looks back up at the sky and tries to ignore the throb in his tongue.

Sanghyun is an idiot for thinking anyone should have faith in Woo Jiho

-.-

Their performance goes even better than Jiho anticipated. He’d expected a relatively even spread in voting from the contestants on which producer team did the best, with Team AOMG winning. After all, it was hard to deny that Jay Park and Loco were the most popular. But the votes were clear. Team ZiPal’s performance has the respect of all but three of the remaining contestants.

Which is why every time they ask someone to join their team and are met with a refusal, Jiho feels himself spiraling a little more into panic. He laughs it off with the others and ignores the sense of dread. Eventually they get their team selected, and even though they still haven’t spoken outside a few short texts, Minho joins their team with a smile and a laugh as if nothing has changed. Then again, Jiho supposes nothing _has_ changed. It was just a rehash of the same old fight they’ve had for years and Minho just accepts him as he is no matter how much Jiho’s words hurt him.

In a weird way, Jiho almost wishes Minho would stop letting him treat him this way.

It’s not like he’s made it a secret that he has no intention of changing. He’s not going to give into temptation, and he’s not going to throw away his religion because it’s convenient, so why won’t Minho leave?

“We’re going to take a lunch break for two hours before we move on to the second part of team selection,” one of the producers says. “Food will be provided but if you have any other business you need to attend to, now is the time. Filming will run late tonight.”

Jiho stretches and unhooks his mic. Two hours isn’t enough time to run to the studio, but he can at least clear out a few smaller things that need his attention from his phone while at lunch. He says his goodbyes and ducks out of the studio, mask pulled up high and beanie pulled low with his shades firmly in place. It isn’t until he’s halfway to this local lunch spot he and Dongwook used to go to that he thinks about actually texting Dongwook. It’s been longer than he wanted since they last caught up.

Part of that is Jiho’s fault. He’s busy. It’s hard to maintain friendships no matter how close they are. It doesn’t help that most the time his messages get met with silence these days. He knows Dongwook is busy. Stressed. 

_Jiho: Hey. Wanna get lunch? I’ll buy (Sent 1:25 PM)_

_Dongwook: where (Sent 1:29 PM)_

Jiho types out the address and pockets his phone, chest feeling a little lighter. After weeks of spending all his time being analyzed by cameras and producers and his bandmates and other musicians he admired, the thought of just sitting across the table from Dongwook and not having to worry about any of it is a relief. That relief dries up when he catches sight of Dongwook as he enters the small restaurant.

He looks skinny, the usual roundness in his cheeks stripped away, and the bags under his eyes as he slides into the booth opposite of Jiho look like bruises. Jiho swallows and takes in the patch of dirt on the shoulder of his green t-shirt, the way his hair lies flat from sweat, and the bag he crams into the space next to him, so full it’s bursting at the zipper.

“Hey,” Jiho says.

“Hi, sorry I’ve been missing lately,” Dongwook says. He bites at the skin around his thumb and offers a smile. “My phone was out of minutes.”

“Out of minutes?”

Dongwook shrugs and reaches out to grab one of the menus from the back of the table. “Yeah. It’s not a big deal.”

“Why don’t you have a regular phone? I thought you said you got a new one,” Jiho says, dread settling low in his stomach. He knows things haven’t been great for Dongwook but for the first time in his life, he feels the differences between them so starkly he almost can’t breathe past the tightness in his chest.

"I did, it’s not a big deal,” Dongwook says, flipping through the menu. “Just home shit. I’m making it work.”

“Dongwook, are you homeless?”

Dongwook doesn’t even flinch, just crooks his right shoulder up in a shrug. “I have been for a while. Sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Before Jiho can respond, a waitress stops by their table and he orders the beef bibimbap he likes here on autopilot, brain fuzzing out to white noise as he watches Dongwook smile and charm the waitress as if he doesn’t look like a mess. Homeless. He’s homeless. Or staying at a hostel or shelter or something.

“You should’ve said something,” Jiho finally says.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want anyone’s help,” Dongwook says. “I’m just trying to figure shit out. I’ll be fine.”

“You look like shit,” Jiho says.

Dongwook rolls his eyes. “Wow, thanks. Very supportive.”

“I just mean that you have a lot of friends who will help you,” Jiho says. “It-“

“I don’t want your help,” Dongwook says. “Buying me lunch is one thing but this…I’m trying to figure things out for myself and my music and what I want to actually do with my life and I can’t do that if I have my friends interfering all the time. Even if you all do mean well. I have to figure it out on my own.”

Jiho opens his mouth to argue but then stops. Because really, he can understand that part. Even if it upsets him to see Dongwook roughing it when he has the ability to fix it with money, he knows Dongwook wants to see if he can accomplish what he wants on his own. He understands that.

“Besides, I do have a bed at night,” Dongwook says. He smiles and then kicks Jiho’s shin under the table. “So how’s filming?”

"Bad enough that I don’t really want to talk about it,” Jiho says with a shrug. “When I’m filming variety shows and things like that with Block B it’s easier because we’re all friends and we all want to make sure we look good. But with this…it’s like there’s weird politics and shit between the producers and the contestants and it’s just…”

“Sounds exhausting,” Dongwook says with a nod. “And knowing you, you’re probably going to the studio after and not sleeping properly, right?”

Jiho flushes and scrubs a hand down his face. “I take it back, I don’t miss you, stop this.”

Dongwook laughs, smile wide and familiar and Jiho’s chest aches because he can’t remember the last time he got a genuine reaction out of Minho like that. He wonders how badly he’s put Minho on guard. He wonders how many of his friends walk on eggshells around him, too afraid to reveal things about themselves.

“Tablo is a producer on the show too right? Is he as cool as he seems?” Dongwook asks.

“Yeah, cooler, probably,” Jiho says. “It’s weird because he’s actually like…nice to me and it’s not like I didn’t think he would be, but I’m the youngest and newest there, you know? So I didn’t think he’d take much of an interest past being polite.”

"He and Minho are on the same label right? It makes sense he’d want to get to know you too,” Dongwook says. “How’s Minho holding up? I’m sure the other competitors are pretty brutal.”

“That honestly doesn’t even begin to cover it. Some of it’s just dumb bullshit where people try to look cool by shitting on idol rappers,” Jiho says. “It doesn’t matter. But there’s other people who just…I don’t know. They take it too far. I don’t like that. Minho doesn’t seem nearly as affected by it as me though, but I think he knows if he shows that it gets to him, they’ll jump all over it. He’s not dumb.”

“Why do you care what they think of you? Either of you?” Dongwook asks. “You’ll never make everyone in the world happy so what’s the point in trying to get their approval when they hate you that much?”

Jiho frowns. “It’s not…it’s not just that I want people to like me. I want to be able to move my career forward and I can’t do that if no one thinks I’m actually skilled. I mean, Minho’s gonna be fine no matter what happens. He’s got Winner. I’m trying to use this to build something, even if that something isn’t gonna be possible for a little while longer. That’s why I care.”

"Someone else might actually believe that,” Dongwook says, expression serious as he nods. “But I think you’ve always cared too much about what people think of you.”

There’s a loaded statement there – Jiho may not be able to pick up on it with other people but he’s known Dongwook too long. And Dongwook knows him better than anyone. Before he can say anything, the waitress returns with their food, and from the way Dongwook’s face lights up when he sees it, Jiho doesn’t feel like ruining the moment.

-.-

Taping doesn’t end until three in the morning, and Jiho knows he should go home. Sanghyun wants to meet at ten the next morning to start working on the first team song and Jiho doesn’t want to mess it up because he’s too tired. He goes to his studio anyway. He wastes nearly a half hour pulling up all his different unfinished tracks and listening to them before closing them again and then looking at his phone and then going back to the tracks again.

He receives a text from Dongwook and Minho back to back as he closes a track for the second time.

_Dongwook: Been listening to this tonight. Made me think of you [link] (Sent 3:37 AM)_

_Minho: Can’t sleep. I didn’t tell you something and I feel like I have to (Sent 3:37 AM)_

Jiho swallows and clicks the link Dongwook sent before switching back to the messages and looking at Minho’s chat.

_Jiho: What’s up? Did something happen at taping? (Sent 3:38 AM)_

_Minho: Me and Jay kissed when you left the other night (Sent 3:38 AM)_

_I’m sorry (Sent 3:38)_

_I shouldn’t have even if you didn’t know (Sent 3:38 AM)_

_That’s not fair to you (Sent 3:38)_

Jiho sets his phone down, staring at it long enough that the screen shuts off. It’s the last thing he expected to read. What’s worse is he’s actually… _angry_ , but he can’t even pinpoint why because how the fuck is it his business anyways? He snatches his phone back up.

_Jiho: Why are you even apologizing? (Sent 3:40 AM)_

_Minho: I don’t know. I just feel like I’m letting you down (Sent 3:40 AM)_

_Jiho: What do you mean? (3:40 AM)_

_Minho: I just don’t want you to think I’m a bad person. And I feel like (3:40 AM)_

_I feel like I’m not supposed to kiss other people (3:40 AM)_

_I don’t know why. We aren’t dating (3:41 AM)_

_Jiho: You and Jay? (3:41 AM)_

_Minho: no me and you. I feel like I cheated on you but we aren’t even dating (3:42 AM)_

_I don’t fucking know (3:42 AM)_

_I don’t know what you want from me (3:42 AM)_

_I just don’t want you to hate me (3:42 AM)  
You don’t have to love me anymore just don’t hate me (3:42 AM)_

There’s a lie at the tips of Jiho’s fingers, the same lie he always tells Minho even though they both know he’s fucking lying because he’s a coward. Daniel’s words echo in his head on a sickening loop.

_“What are death threats in comparison to eternal damnation?”_

He slides the chat away and reopens the link Dongwook sent him. Amor Fati by Epik High. He’d listened to it when the whole album came out, but he hadn’t really revisited it since and he can barely remember what it was about or sounded like. He’s been composing too much. He grabs his headsets off the desk, unplugging from his laptop and jamming it into phone instead, hitting play as he leans back in his chair.

He listens.

The song ends and he hits repeat.

-.-

**_2012_ **

_Block B debuts. BoM debuts. Jiho sees Minho for the first time since he left the practice room in tears and neither of them stop crying backstage of some shitty show they’re taping for even with all the cameras rolling._

_And that’s all it is for a while. Jihoon uses the opportunity to re-establish connection with Minho and so does Kyung, but Jiho stays away, not sure how to apologize and not sure how to talk to him. Things between him and Jihoon are fine now. He never…apologized. He knows he should, but any time he tries, the words catch in his throat and he says something else instead. But Jihoon is a better man then he is and lets it go, settling into a friendship with him that feels real even with their past sitting silently between them._

_It isn’t until almost a year later that Minho asks him to come over. Against his better judgment, he agrees, and isn’t surprised when he’s met at the front door by Minho’s gruff and silent father who fixes him with a disapproving stare the whole way through the living room and down the hallway. For a long moment, he lingers outside Minho’s door. It takes more strength than he thought it would to knock on it._

_Minho opens the door and steps back to let him in, shutting it when Jiho steps inside. He slips past Jiho to sit in his bed and after a moment of awkward glancing around, Jiho settles into the chair at the empty desk. He’s never been to Minho’s home, only the apartment he used to share with Jihoon. This space feels blank and unfamiliar. The chair squeaks as he twists in it, not a full rotation, but just rocking back and forth._

_“So…BoM is going to disband probably.”_

_Jiho goes still. Minho doesn’t look at him though, only staring down at his own hands. “What?”_

_“Yeah. It’s just…it’s not working out. I don’t know.”_

_"We’re suing our label.” Jiho doesn’t mean to say it – they haven’t filed the paperwork yet and he knows he shouldn’t be telling anyone, but he isn’t sure how to respond to Minho’s sudden admission except with one of his own. “I guess it didn’t work out for either of us.”_

_Minho does look up then, a melancholy look in his eyes despite the empty smile on his lips. “Well shit.”_

_Silence stretches between them and Jiho searches for something to say. He doesn’t feel like a leader, and he’s certainly not a friend anymore either, so there’s no mask for him to reach for. Perhaps it’s a sign he should try honesty. Looking at Minho and the way his shoulders hunch forward and his expression twists into something that makes Jiho’s chest ache, he supposed it’s the least he can do. After everything, Minho deserves that much._

_"I never wanted to…I didn’t mean to say whatever I said to you,” Jiho says. “I don’t even remember what I said, I was just…scared.”_

_"I know,” Minho says. “It’s not okay. But I get it. You were right about it ruining our chances.”_

_"And it’s not just that,” Jiho says. “Because I…I like guys too. It freaked me out to just see you and Jihoon just being okay with it like it wasn’t a big deal and I…”_

_The words sit between them once Jiho trails off and Jiho wants to snatch the words back even as relief floods through him now that he finally has it out in the open. The feelings aren’t the sin. Those aren’t what make him bad._

_"I figured that part out,” Minho says. “Jihoon pointed it out to me when we talked about it later. He said you were just mad because we could be honest with ourselves and you couldn’t.”_

_“Yeah,” Jiho says. “He’s not…he may be the youngest in our group with you gone but he’s smarter than me with shit like this.”_

_Minho laughs, a little bitter. “God this is so fucked up.”_

_"I know.”_

_“I missed you so much.”_

_Minho’s voice wavers at the end like he’s about to cry and Jiho can’t ignore his instincts when faced with that sound. He crosses the room and pulls Minho to his feet, wrapping his arms around him when Minho starts to cry in earnest, wet and loud and not at all restrained. Jiho swallows past the lump in his throat and holds Minho close, running a hand through his hair and letting him cling._

_"I missed you too, I’m sorry I fucked it all up,” he says, his own voice shaking a little. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”_

_"You don’t mean that,” Minho says, wiping at his face as he pulls away. “I’m not stupid. I know you were in love with me back then, it was obvious once I realized you were gay too.”_

_"I…” There’s no response he can think of. It’s easy to lie when he has a role to play, but like this, when he’s being honest, he can’t think of a damn thing to cover it up with. “I…”_

_“You still are, aren’t you?” Minho asks. He doesn’t sound accusatory, only reigned, and it makes Jiho angry that he’s fucked up so bad that he’s robbed Minho of the ability to hope that Jiho could get anything right. “It’s oaky. I still love you too, for some really dumb reason.”_

_“Minho, I can’t…” Jiho hates saying it but he doesn’t have a choice. It’s like everything in his worst nightmares coming true all at once. He’s gay. He loves his former best friend. And even worse his former best friend loves him back, and all of that could be fine if they were a boy and a girl but they aren’t and-_

_"I know, it’s okay, take a deep breath,” Minho says, tugging him back down to the bed._

_Jiho goes, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes in a desperate attempt to stop crying but he can’t. He leans into Minho’s arms and wishes that he were stronger._

-.-

Jiho exhales and ignores the way his hand shakes as he brings his cigarette from his lips. Tablo’s voice continues to echo through his headsets. He’d been unable to bring himself to change the song the whole walk home and now he stands in the alley he’s become too comfortable in, not ready to go back inside.

_“If I dirty my mouth and body, that’s hell, will I think of you?”_

He swipes at his eyes, furious at the hot and wet tears he feels clinging to his eyelashes. He’s pissed that this is what makes Dongwook think of him, that a song soaked in guilt about obvious sins he _should_ feel guilty for makes Dongwook think of his stupid best friend who’d kissed him and cried when they were still kids. Everyone around him keeps insisting it isn’t a big deal. That it’s not _wrong_ to kiss another man without begging for forgiveness. They somehow don’t grasp that it isn’t about what they think at all, but what God thinks.

And God doesn’t think highly of that at all.

He inhales again and stamps his foot on the ground, restless energy making his skin feel like something is crawling across its surface. He thinks about Daniel sitting across from him in the café, asking him if he put his faith in God or if he put his faith in a priest, and it was a dumb fucking question because priests were supposed to speak God’s word.

_“I believe in love, but they call me a non-believer.”_

Jiho flicks the cigarette away and twists his fingers in his hair, tugging at the roots like the pain will make things clearer. There’s been a fog over his mind for years, hazy and thick. It’s kept him safe, kept him on the right path any time Minho smiled at him and tempted him with a soft whisper of his name. But that wasn’t fair. Minho isn’t a temptress. Minho’s his friend, a friend who after everything, after _everything_ Jiho’s done, has faith in him. A friend who has so much faith in him that when he kisses a man his first thought is to apologize to Jiho because Jiho’s spent their whole friendship telling him he’s disgusting and wrong in every possible way without saying the actual words themselves.

And Minho’s not any of those things. Minho’s a fucking ray of sunlight, his presence filling Jiho with warmth and peace with every smile, every small touch on his shoulder or arm, every casual embrace, all of it given without anything asked in return. How could that be wrong? In what fucking cruel and unfair world would God ask him to accept such kindness and return it with venom born from his own guilt?

Is it God he has faith in or the priests?

Is it Minho, his mother, Dongwook, Daniel he has faith in?

Sanghyun’s words circle through his head, telling him to have faith in himself, because if he does, the right people will be attracted to him. But how could he possible attract the right people when everything inside him was _wrong_? When he was supposed to apologize for it, but he couldn’t because he wasn’t sorry in the first place.

_“Why’d you break my fine wings and make me crawl?”_

That was the problem wasn’t it? It’s not just that if he kisses Minho, if he loves him, dates him, fucks him, he’d have to go to a confessional booth and apologize. It’s about the fact that he doesn’t know how the fuck could he apologize for any of it. For all the pain it’s brought him, he knows the moment he kisses Minho, he’d never be able to apologize, not when loving Minho honestly and the way he deserved was all he’s ever wanted. How could he apologize for something he was born with and spent nearly a decade fighting? Why was he the one set up to fail? If God knew his sin, how could He never give him a way out if he gave in to temptation?

The only way to be forgiven of sin was to repent and seek forgiveness.

But how could he ever apologize for loving Minho? If he doesn’t act on it, he would never have to face that question, but the price to pay for that was knowing that all he’d ever do was hurt Minho over and over again. His own guilt is a poison and he’s been content with letting it ruin his life, but he won’t let it ruin Minho’s too.

Which left him where? Doomed with no path to redemption? To stop hurting Minho is to doom himself, because God’s left him with no path to seek it when he won’t ever apologize. He shouldn’t _have_ to.

He rips his headsets off and nearly throws the damn things at the wall before the fight drains out of him all at once and he crouches down instead, headsets dangling from his fingers as he presses a hand to his eyes as his shoulders begin to shake. The tears feel hot on his cheeks and his lungs burn.

Why does he have to apologize? Why does he have to apologize for loving his best friend, why does he have to apologize for choosing not to harm someone he loves? Why would God even ask that of him?

“Jiho?”

The voice startles him and he falls back against the crate, shame burning through him when he sees Jihoon standing near the door. He’s aware then of what he looks like - exhausted, soaked in sweat and tears, panting from the way panic and fear choke his chest and throat. All things that Jihoon’s seen before. Still, Jiho’s the leader. It’s not what Jihoon should ever see.

“I didn’t know you were back,” Jiho says, voice rough as he wipes a few more tears away.

“It’s 6:00 AM. I figured I’d come back and apologize to everyone for worrying them by making breakfast,” Jihoon says. “I…heard you.”

“Sorry.”

Jihoon doesn’t move and Jiho looks away, too raw to look at him but too tired to reassemble his mask and role and head back inside.

“Do you want to talk?” Jihoon asks.

“That’s not a good idea,” Jiho says. He stares at the cigarette he’d thrown away. The ember isn’t even glowing anymore, but smoke still wafts off the edge.

“Whatever you’re doing now isn’t a good idea either,” Jihoon says. “Is this about Minho?”

“Isn’t everything?”

Jihoon laughs, but it sounds bitter and hurt, and it makes the guilt claw at Jiho’s insides again. It’s not just Minho he’s hurt. It’s Jihoon, Taeil, Kyung, Dongwook, his mother, all the people he’s shoved away and scorned every time they’ve tried to help.

“It’s not really about Minho though, is it? If it hadn’t been Minho, you would’ve fallen in love with someone else,” Jihoon says. His footsteps sound heavy as he approaches him and Jiho still can’t bring himself to look at him when Jihoon sits down on the dirty pavement next to him. “What is it?”

“I love Minho. And I’m gay. And I’m tired of running from all of it,” Jiho says, the words coming out as a whisper. “But you already knew all that.”

“I knew the first two,” Jihoon says. “But honestly, I didn’t think you’d ever get tired of running.”

“Death threats are nothing in comparison to eternal damnation,” Jiho says.

“What?”

“I can’t ask for forgiveness for loving Minho, that’s the problem,” Jiho says. He rests his forearms on his knees and leans forward to run a hand through his hair. “So when I stop running…I’m damned.”

“Sounds like a pretty shitty God,” Jihoon says.

Jiho frowns. “I…I don’t get why He would put me in this position.”

“Maybe He didn’t,” Jihoon says.

“Yeah…maybe you’re right.” Jiho lets out a breath and forces himself to look at Jihoon. “I’m sorry. For everything. For making you and Minho feel like you were terrible people for something you can’t control and for letting it go on this long. I…Jihoon, I’m _so_ sorry.”

He can feel the tears choking his throat again and he sees Jihoon’s eyes widen before he feels them running down his face again. Jihoon lurches forward, all awkward and too long limbs just like always, and he tugs Jiho into a hug. It’s uncomfortable. One of his knees ends up jammed against Jiho’s thigh and he nearly elbows his ear too, but it’s all worth it when Jihoon presses his lips to his temple.

“It’s okay, Jiho. I forgive you.”

-.-

He texts Minho on his way to Sanghyun’s studio.

_Jiho: Hey. I need to take care of some stuff but we’re gonna talk today okay? (7:29 AM)_

_Minho: Okay (7:29 AM)_

_Jiho: It’s going to be okay. I promise (7:29 AM)_

Despite how tired he is, and how sore his eyes are from crying, he feels like his mind is clearer than it’s been in years, as if he’s finally stopped wasting energy on twisting himself into knots to avoid the truth. He works hard with Sanghyun throughout the morning and afternoon, pulling samples and stitching them back together into something that sounds catchy and sticks in the ear as Sanghyun works out the hook.

By the time he leaves, he feels even better than he did after crying in Jihoon’s arms and apologizing. Forgiveness after a confessional has never felt like this.

Instead of heading back to the dorm for some much-needed sleep, he texts a warning to his mother and hails a cab. It’s been months since he’s had time to swing home and visit. Taewoon still lives there but his mother lets him know that he’s off with some of his bandmates rehearsing which is a bit of a relief. He loves his brother, but with everything on his mind, he doesn’t want to get distracted about the last round when he’d been sent home. Maybe that’s selfish.

Then again, he’s surpassed being awake for more than twenty-four hours so he supposes he should cut himself some slack.

He trudges his way up to the front door and knocks before reaching down and slipping his house key into the lock. Opening the door and stepping inside makes everything in hm relax all at once, the familiar and nostalgic scent of being home seeping into his senses and helping the tension drain out of a too tense and weary body. He kicks off his shoes, wincing when one of them hits the wall and scuffs it.

“Jiho!” his mother yells.

“Sorry!” he yells back as he grabs the slippers and slides them on before heading down the hall to the kitchen. “Sorry.”

She turns away from the dishes she’s washing, wiping her hands on the front of her apron and frowning when she sees him. “Taewoon said you seemed fine at taping but you don’t look fine.”

He accepts her hug when she offers it, face pressing into her neck as he inhales the smell of the perfume she always applies meticulously even when she’s just doing chores around the house. “Long day. I haven’t slept since…it’s almost ben 30 hours I think.”

“Jiho…”

“I know, I…can I crash here for tonight?”

Her arms feel warm and strong around him even though he’s dwarfed her in size for years now. Maybe it’s a parent thing. “Of course, baby. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m…so tired of crying,” he says. He squeezes her once and then let’s go, offering a smile. “But yeah I wanna talk about it. I just really need a shower.”

She pushes his greasy hair back and leans up on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. “Works for me.”

Everything is where it always is – she keeps it that way on purpose. When he’d asked about it years ago she said she always wanted him to be able to come home to some place familiar and safe. He’s never been more grateful. He cleans off the dirt and grime and layers of makeup that cake and streak his face, letting the hot water soak his muscles and help them loosen as he takes stock of himself and his thoughts.

Part of him feels like a child, desperately seeking out approval and reassurance from a parent in a moment of weakness. Then again, like everyone else in his life, he’s been the one rejecting the help and guidance his mother has extended over and over again no matter how much he pushed her away. The whole point of not running away means doing things he should’ve done years ago. He has a lot of catching up to do.

He dries himself off and stares at his reflection in the half-fogged up mirror. His baptismal name sits on his right collarbone with his mother’s face over his heart, something that feels laughable now. He’d gotten it as a reminder to carry his mother and her love always. What a joke that turned out to be when he’s spent so much of his life running from her and disappointing her.

Once he hangs up the towel, he realizes he didn’t bring any clean clothes with him, but when he opens the bathroom door and peeks his head out, he sees his mother has left an old pair of gym shorts as well as an old sweater of his father’s on the ground with a plastic bag for his dirty clothes. He gets dressed and packs up his clothes and then heads back out to the kitchen. On the island counter sits a bowl with steam rising out of it.

“That’s the last of the seaweed soup,” his mother says as she finishes drying her hands on the dish towel. “Taewoon is going to complain that I gave it to you.”

“I feel spoiled.”

"You deserve a little spoiling sometimes, don’t you think?” she asks. She slides into the barstool next to him as he blows on the hot soup and then sips down the first spoonful with an overdramatic groan. “Good?”

“No one in the dorm cooks well,” he says.

“It’s not a hard recipe,” she says with a laugh.

“But it’s different when you make it,” he says, smiling when she laughs again.

He finishes the bowl in silence, leaning into her when she brushes her fingers through his wet hair and comments that she’s not a fan of the blonde. She makes a remark about his father being busy and the sales for her online shop. He listens as she talks about how Taewoon handled his elimination well. By the time he’s done, his belly is warm and full his nerves soothed by the idle and calm chatter his mother so effortlessly fills the space with.

“So, are you ready to tell me why you’re here?” she asks, leaning on the counter and propping her head up on her hand as she looks at him.

Any other time, the question would’ve sent him sputtering into a million different excuses and fleeing out the door. This time, he just straightens up and nods.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” he says. “I’m gay. And I’m in love with Song Minho.”

His mother nods. “Okay. What are you going to do about that?”

“I don’t know yet,” he says with a sigh, chest feeling lighter than it has in years from her acceptance. He knows he shouldn’t have expected different. That’s what his mother has always given him, no matter what he did or said. “I’ve spent so long denying it and hurting him, and my friends, and you…I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“I’m your mother,” she says, reaching out with her other hand to rest on his forearm and giving it a squeeze. “Part of that involves being hurt as your children do their best to figure things out about themselves and the world around them.”

“I’m sorry anyways,” he says. “You’ve tried to be there for me in so many ways with this and I just…I never listened.”

“You were scared,” she says. “I understand.”

“I wasn’t ever scared of you,” Jiho says, twisting to face her better. “I want you to know that. It was never you or dad that I was scared of. You’ve never made me feel like there was something wrong with people who were…people like me.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she says. Her voice sounds tight and Jiho hates the way he can see her eyes start to shimmer with tears. “I just didn’t know how to show you how to accept the unconditional love of the Lord without the church, but the church taught you wrongfully that you have to repent for extending that same love to someone you care for.”

“I think that’s…that’s what I’m having trouble with,” Jiho says, picking at the cuticle of his thumb as he looks down at his hands. “I kept thinking as long as I don’t act on it then I’d be safe because I don’t have to apologize if I don’t commit the sin, but then _not_ acting on it was hurting me and Minho and…that’s not good either. But I knew if I did something then I wouldn’t be able to apologize because I’m not sorry for how I feel about Minho.”

“You love him,” his mother says. “There’s a reason you don’t feel sorry about it even when you have people telling you that you should, and it’s because there’s nothing holier than loving someone truly and deeply.”

Jiho swallows around the lump in his throat and leans across the barstool and his mother shifts to stand, wrapping her arms around him and letting him tuck his face down against her collarbone as his own arms slip around her waist, He lets out a harsh breath and closes his eyes.

“I’m so tired of trying not to love him,” Jiho says.

"So stop trying,” she says. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize for love.”

For the first time since the moment he cried in Dongwook’s arms when he was still a child, he really believes that.

-.-

Jiho sleeps. He goes to his old bedroom after asking Minho to come over in two hours and sleeps wrapped around a Hello Kitty plushie his brother had bought him for Christmas the year he’d been going through that phase. He wakes up with drool on his pillow and Minho knocking on his bedroom door. Wiping the mess from his chin, he calls for Minho to come in and sits up as he enters, shutting the door with a quiet click behind him.

He’s dressed in plain clothes – a simple grey sweater and tight blue jeans with a black bucket hat pulled low and a grey mask tucked down around his chin. Jiho turns on his bedside lamp. Minho stays by the door.

"So what did you want?” Minho asks.

Guilt sits heavy in his chest when he sees the way Minho hunches in on himself, eyes downcast, everything in him so defensive like he can’t trust Jiho. And really…why would he think he could? Jiho knows he’s never given him any reason to.

“I wanted to apologize,” Jiho says.

Minho sighs and takes his hat off followed by his mask, pushing the mask into the hat and then twisting them together in his hands as he shifts, his anxiety apparent in every motion. It hits Jiho then that this is part of the process. He’s spent so long being an aggressor when he should’ve been a protector. That’s what he’s wanted to be for Minho, but somewhere along the way his intentions got twisted and he managed to convince himself that hurting was protecting.

“Is this an actual apology or just…the same shit?” Minho asks. “Because I don’t want you to apologize if you don’t mean it.”

“That’s the whole issue,” Jiho says. “But that’s…that’s a different conversation. I’m sorry for making you feel like you were a bad person for being gay, and for kissing other people. I was wrong. There’s…it’s not wrong. You’re not wrong Minho. And I’m sorry I spent so long telling you that you were.”

He watches Minho’s throat bob as he swallows, brow crumpling inwards the way it does when he’s trying not to cry. Instinct makes him want to stay right where he is. Holding Minho at an arms-length is something he’s beaten into himself, but he doesn’t want to be that person anymore. He doesn’t want to be the one that hurts Minho. He doesn’t want to be the one who leaves Minho feeling scared and alone.

So Jiho stands up and crosses the space between them, opening his arms and letting Minho lean into him. He doesn’t flinch from the way Minho clings to him. He doesn’t go stiff and awkward. He shoves those instincts aside and holds Minho tight even as Minho’s shoulders begin to shake and hot tears begin to splash against his neck and the collar of his sweater.

“I hate you so much!” Minho chokes out.

"I know.”

“I hate you, okay? I hate you.”

“You should,” Jiho says. The words hurt to hear but it’s a comfort too. He’s…happy to bear the brunt of Minho’s pain and anger, because it’s pain and anger he’s caused. That Minho feels like he can say them now is proof in a way that Jiho’s doing the right thing because he’s finally created a space where Minho can be honest. “It’s okay.”

"It’s really not…” Minho’s voice cracks and breaks, and he sniffs hard as his fingers twist in the fabric of Jiho’s sweater. “Why did you do this to me for so long? I don’t…”

“It’s not your fault,” Jiho says. “I was scared because I knew if I ever was honest about how I felt about you, I’d never be able to apologize for it. You’re not dirty or wrong Minho. I am for making you feel like you were. And that’s something I can apologize for.”

“Why don’t I feel better?” Minho sucks in a watery breath and exhales in a rush. “I’ve wanted you to apologize for so long but I don’t feel better.”

Jiho swallows past the tightness in his throat. “It’s been years, Minho. As sincere as my apology is I don’t…I don’t think I can undo all the damage with just an apology.”

“What are you even trying to accomplish?”

“I…” Jiho squeeze Minho closer, resting his chin on the top of his head. “I want to be with you, if you’ll still have me after everything. And I…and if you don’t want me anymore because I’ve hurt you too much, I understand and I can live with that, but I want to be the best friend you actually deserve to have anyways. I want to support you. I want to be everything you need me to be.”

Minho sniffles and wiggles a hand up between them to wipe his nose with his sleeve. “What changed?”

Jiho walks them backwards to the bed, sitting down on it and hauling Minho onto it with him, situating them so his back is against the headboard and Minho’s straddling his lap. He reaches for the tissues on his nightstand and Minho takes a few when he holds it out. “I realized loving someone isn’t a sin.”

“Just like that?” Minho asks, eyes narrowed as he wipes his tears and nose again.

“Sort of?” Jiho rubs Minho’s sides with both hands before letting his hands rest on Minho’s bony hips. “It’s weird. It’s like I’ve been surrounded by people telling me everything I needed to hear but I just wasn’t hearing it until last night and then it…it just all fell into place and I feel…so dumb.”

“How do I know it’ll last?”

It’s a fair question. Jiho bites at his lip as he thinks. “I…In the last few hours, my mind has felt so much quieter. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, and sure I never wanted to hurt you to begin with, but the mental gymnastics it took to hurt you and myself and everyone around me and be okay with it was exhausting and I really…I can’t go back to that. There’s no way. I don’t know how to convince you of that other than asking for you to give me time to prove it to you, but the way I feel right now is the best I’ve felt in years. I don’t want to return to that. It hasn’t even been a day and the thought of going back to that is just…I don’t know. I just can’t.”

Minho shifts and curls into Jiho’s chest, arms wiggling around him to slip between the headboard and Jiho’s back before he rests his head in the crook of Jiho’s neck. “I’ve dreamed for years of you apologizing and asking to be with me. It’s not as satisfying as I thought it would be.”

Jiho lets out a laugh, half nerves, half frustration with himself. “I don’t think it’s possible for something like this to ever feel good. It’s a relief to not be fighting myself anymore but it’s…I’m scared I won’t be able to undo all the damage I’ve done.”

“I really shouldn’t forgive you.” Minho sighs, breath tickling Jiho’s throat. “I meant what I said. That I hate you. I hate you for everything you’ve put me through and how guilty you’ve made me feel because even with Jihoon and my other friends telling me I’m normal, I’ve always cared more about what you’ve thought.”

“I know,” Jiho says. “I will try to make it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

“Of course I’m going to let you,” Minho says. “Even if I hate what you did to me, I still love you. I’m _in_ love with you. I just can’t…if you do anything like this to me again I can’t stay. I won’t stay. I’ll want to but I’m not going to let myself be your emotional punching bag whenever you feel guilty.”

"If I ever treat you like I did, I want you to leave me and never look back,” Jiho says. He reaches up to grab Minho’s face, pushing him back and cradling his jaw in both his hands as he looks in his eyes. “If I hurt you like I’ve hurt you the last few years, you should leave me because you deserve someone who loves you the way you deserve.”

"You really think you can love me without feeling guilty?” Minho asks, voice barely a whisper.

"Any guilt I feel is a burden for me to sort out,” Jiho says. “You’ve carried that guilt for me for so long, I’m never going to ask you to do it again. I promise.”

Minho searches his gaze, for what Jiho doesn’t know, but after a long moment he nods, head moving just a little in Jiho’s grip. “Okay. I forgive you. And I want to try being with you.”

Jiho closes his eyes. “Thank you.”

Minho wiggles one of his hands free and cups Jiho’s face, thumb rubbing over his bottom lip. “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

Jiho doesn’t pull away. Minho presses their lips together and Jiho…Jiho’s fine. Minho’s lips taste like the salt from his tears and the world doesn’t end. Jiho reaches for the guilt but all he feels is elation, an overwhelming joy that he has Minho here in his arms and he’s safe and that they’re going to be okay. He cups the back of Minho’s head and kisses him again, a little wet and a little messy. It’s not like he knows what he’s doing. Minho doesn’t seem to mind though, only shifting and pushing his fingers through Jiho’s hair as their tongues slide together and Jiho…Jiho is so in love.

It’s a confirmation of everything he’d already known. There’s no way he could ever apologize for this – the way Minho melts into him as they kiss and the way his breath hitches as Jiho’s teeth graze his bottom lip is everything to him. It’s not just lust. It’s what every touch and sound represents. It’s that Minho trusts him despite everything, it’s that he can kiss Minho and the dark guilty feeling that covered his insides for so long is nowhere to be found. He hesitates to call it spiritual, but he thinks maybe he understands what his mother means when she says to love someone unconditionally is the holiest thing he can do.

They kiss until their lips are wet and swollen and Jiho moves to Minho’s jaw instead. Minho’s gasp sounds loud in the room. He rocks in Jiho’s lap like he can’t help it and Jiho realizes somewhat distantly, that they’re both hard and there’s an undercurrent of pleasure to every press of his lips to Minho’s skin. Fingers twist and tug at his hair, guiding him to the hollow of Minho’s throat. He drags his teeth along the soft skin next to Minho’s Adam’s apple and feels the soft moan beneath his lips. Every inch of his skin feels alive. _He_ feels alive. For the first time in years, there’s no fear keeping him from inhabiting as he wants to. It’s Minho in his arms and beneath his lips. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

“J-Jiho…”

Minho’s fingers dig into his scalp and jaw, wrenching his head back up before Minho presses their lips together again. Jiho wraps his arms around Minho’s lower back, holding him snug as Minho’s tongue slides wet and heavy against his lower lip and then his own tongue as he kisses him deep. Minho kisses like he’s starving, like the only thing keeping him alive is Jiho’s affection. But then, Jiho has denied him that affection for so long, he isn’t surprised that Minho is scared of it being taken away.

“I’m not leaving,” he says when Minho lets him breathe. Minho’s lips slide along his jaw to his ear, tongue slipping against his earlobe as he tugs at it with his teeth. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Minho hums a noise of assent against his neck and then brings their lips together again. It’s gentler now, the frantic edge tapering off to something calmer even as he continues to roll his hips like he can’t quite help himself. Jiho doesn’t mind. It’s…nice to feel the pleasure without guilt nipping at the edges of the sensation.

“I have to go back to the dorm tonight,” Minho says between kisses. “I want…” Another kiss and the pleasure roars to the forefront and Jiho grips Minho’s hips so hard the leather of his belt creaks. “We shouldn’t…”

"We’re going too fast,” Jiho says as he pushes Minho back enough that they can both inhale without sharing each other’s air. “I’m not jeopardizing this just because we can’t control ourselves.”

Minho smiles, shy but genuine and Jiho can’t help but smile back, heart flipping in a way that for once doesn’t leave him feeling sick.

“Thank you for giving me a chance,” Jiho says. “And I’m-“

“No. No more apologizing,” Minho says. “Your guilt got us into this, and I’m not gonna let you feel guilty about what we have for any reason.”

All at once, Jiho feels like he’s going to cry again. His eyes burn with it but they’re too dry. Minho cups his face again and presses their lips together one more time, gentle and soft.

“I love you,” he whispers against Jiho’s lips. “I forgive you. Now we can move forward, yeah?”

"I’m scared still,” Jiho says.

“Me too,” Minho says and then kisses him again as his thumbs rub the skin beneath Jiho’s eyes. “But we’ll be okay. Imagine what we can do together.”

Jiho nods. “I guess I just have to have faith in both of us.”

“Faith is scary too,” Minho says, one of his hands slipping down to rest against his chest where Jiho’s baptismal name is tattooed. “But look at everything we’ve accomplished so far even though we were afraid. Fear doesn’t have to mean an end.”

“Sounds like you’ve been talking to Daniel. Neither of us are that smart,” Jiho says and smiles when Minho laughs.

He’s still smiling when Minho kisses him again.

-.-

Working with Minho now feels different. Jiho knows it’s not just his perception that’s changed, it’s the fact that Minho genuinely seems at ease around him now. Their whole team works well together and by the end of the second day of recording and polishing everyone’s lyrics, Jiho feels like they’re sitting on a song that will certainly live on past the show.

Once the contestants and cameras and producers are all gone, Jiho relaxes back into the studio chair with a heavy sigh, but despite how tired he feels, it doesn’t dampen the light feeling that he’s carried in his chest since he and Minho talked things out. It’s been a few days, but it feels surreal. It’s like a fog that’s made the whole world seem just a little too dull has lifted. Music sounds better. His brain feels quicker. It’s hard to imagine such a change could happen so quickly.

In a way, he supposes it’s upsetting. How many years did he waste degrading himself?

“You seem happier,” Sanghyun says as he clicks through his own laptop, saving and closing files.

"Really?”

Sanghyun frowns, pausing. Then he hits the power button on his laptop and turns in his chair to face Jiho. “Maybe not happier. Just relaxed. You’ve seemed really high strung up until today.”

“I took some of your advice,” Jiho says.

Sanghyun straightens up, eyebrows raising. “Really? About what?”

“About not trying so hard to be something I’m not,” Jiho says. “I mean…hip hop is a performance so I’m always going to be performing some part of myself that isn’t real, but that doesn’t need to carry into the rest of my life. I’m going to lose people I care about if I do it that way.”

“That’s quite a change,” Sanghyun says. “I didn’t think you’d change that fast, if I’m honest.”

Jiho feels his cheeks heat with a flush and he rubs at the back of his neck to give his hands something to do. “Well, you’re not the only one who’s been trying to stop me from turning into a total asshole.”

Sanghyun laughs, his smile wide as he does so. “You have some good friends.”

“Oh, we’re friends now?” Jiho asks.

“I suppose we are,” Sanghyun says.

-.-

Round six goes as expected for their team. The performance is amazing and Jiho couldn’t feel better about the team they chose, especially after seeing the rest of the performances. The producers call for a break once the last team song is performed but before eliminations begin. Jiho feels a little bad because he can see the tension in some of the contestants’ faces and it feels cruel to prolong it, but on the other hand, he desperately needs a cigarette. Minho practically materializes by his side as he heads down the hall, a bounce in his step.

“That performance felt good,” Minho says. “Going for a smoke?”

“Yeah,” Jiho says. “And if this is you fishing for information on who we’re going to eliminate, it’s not going to work.”

“If you’d come to my team, I would’ve treated you better.”

The sound of San E’s voice makes Jiho’s blood run cold and both he and Minho freeze as San E wraps an arm around Minho’s waist and continues to guide him down the hall as casual as can be. Jiho blinks and starts walking again, ignoring the anger that rises up in his chest. He can see San E’s mic is still hot where the red-light blinks from the pack on his back pocket.

“Trying to get a good sound bite?” Jiho asks, keeping his tone light as he draws even with them. “You forgot to turn your mic off, dude.”

San E gives him a look that might be shocked. Still, Jiho can’t trust it even when San E reaches back with the hand that had been around Minho’s waist to twist the mic’s power off and unplug it. “My bad. Can’t have them hear I’m still trying to sway your cute toy to my side.”

Minho shifts forward, catching the lot door that leads to the back lot with his back and leaning against it but not quite opening it. “Pretty sure the rules don’t work like that, and I don’t make a very fun toy, sorry.” He gives San E a gracious smile, all practiced and polished.

"Hey, Jiho, smoke break?”

Jiho turns to see Jaebeom jogging down the hall towards them. “Yeah, you joining?”

“Yeah, if I can. I forgot my pack and Hyukwoo is being a little bitch about sharing, you mind spotting me one?” Jaebeom asks, brushing past San E without sparing him a glance.

“Sure, no problem,” Jiho says as he pats down his pockets for his pack. He looks at San E. “You wanna join?”

San E glances between the three of them, a fake and too wide grin plastered on his lips. “Nah, I’ll leave you idol gossip queens to yourselves. See you later.”

He slaps a hand against Jaebeom’s shoulder with a laugh that sounds so forced it grates on Jiho’s ears. Then he turns and heads back down towards the main stage.

“Fucking douche,” Jaebeom sighs out, soft under his breath. “Saw him heading after you guys with his mic on so I figured he was going to try and pull some shit.”

“He did,” Minho says, lips curling down as he leans back against the door hard enough to open it and head outside. “That guy has no concept of personal space.”

“I just don’t get what his deal is,” Jiho says as he and Jaebeom follow Minho outside. He pulls his cigarettes out and holds the box out to Jaebeom who flicks it open and takes one out even as he pulls out his own lighter.

“He’s an insecure douche, that’s all,” Jaebeom says, cigarette bobbing as he lights it. He hands his lighter to Jiho as he inhales and then brings his fingers up to his lips to pull the cigarette away and exhale. “And he’s probably gotten on the producers’ good side by being their little pet to try and catch someone saying something shitty.”

“At least when I was on Win, I knew no one in iKon wanted to ruin my career,” Minho says, brow creasing as he accepts a cigarette from Jiho.

Jaebeom holds out the lighter, flicking it on as Minho bends his head to accept the flame. “Welcome to the world outside the Big 3’s bubble.”

Jiho watches as Minho leans back, mind suddenly preoccupied with the text Minho had sent him a few nights ago about how he and Jaebeom had kissed. Jaebeom turns to him, lighter extended.

“You gonna actually smoke?” Jaebeom asks.

Jiho means to say ‘yes’. What instead comes out is, “Why’d you and Minho kiss?”

The flame flicks off and Jaebeom nearly drops the lighter as Minho begins to cough, bending over at the waist as smoke spills from his lips. Jiho stares at Jaebeom, mouth working as he tries to figure out how to backtrack.

“Jiho, seriously?” Minho asks.

"You never said!” Jiho can feel a flush creeping up his neck. “And I forgot to ask why.”

“Ah fuck, are you going to make this all weird again?” Jaebeom asks, face twisted into a grimace.

"No, it’s fine, we’re fine now,” Minho says in a rush. “Like we…we’re…”

“We’re dating.”

Jaebeom glances between them, one eyebrow crooked up with his mouth partially dropped open like he isn’t even processing what either of them have said. Jiho kind of wants the ground to swallow him whole. He settles for pulling out a cigarette and stashing the pack back in his pocket and holding his hand out for the lighter. Jaebeom passes it over like he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

“You two are such a train wreck,” he says, watching as Jiho lights his cigarette. He takes the lighter back and stows it away before raising his own cigarette to his lips and inhaling. “Like seriously, how are you going to hide that during filming?”

“Well you didn’t suspect anything today, did you?” Minho asks.

“I…okay good point,” Jaebeom says. He looks over at Jiho. “What made you get your head out of your ass?”

“You, sort of.” Jiho shrugs and takes a deep drag before letting it out, head tilting back as he blows the smoke up towards the sky. “Minho texted me about what you two did and then I had a bit of an epiphany and…I don’t know. It’s fine now. I’m committed.”

“Well, at least something good came out of that,” Jaebeom says.

"It wasn’t a bad kiss,” Minho says, voice almost cracking from how high pitched it gets.

“The kiss was fine, it was all the crying that came after it that was awkward,” Jaebeom says.

Oddly, the words don’t bother Jiho the way San E’s arm around Minho’s waist did. He’s…not even jealous really. Maybe it’s because he knows Jaebeom isn’t actually interested in Minho where as San e remains an entire enigma and Jiho can’t tell if he’s actually a fucking creep or if he’s just trying to mess with their head space. Both options suck.

He’s not sure if Jaebeom counts as a friend, but he _does_ know more about Minho and Jiho both than most other people do, so in Jiho’s mind, it’s easy to place him in the box of people he can trust. Just as long as Minho doesn’t kiss him again. Not that he thinks Minho will. He really needs something stronger than nicotine at this point if he’s going to chill out by the time they head back inside, but that’s not really an option.

“So uh…why did you guys kiss?”

"He was having a whole crisis about being in love with you and feeling guilty after kissing guys,” Jaebeom says. “So I…offered.”

“What was that supposed to accomplish?” Jiho asks, more confused than upset.

Jaebeom shrugs. “Fuck if I know. I was drunk. I don’t claim to understand the logic behind drunk Jay Park’s actions.”

“I guess…thanks anyways. It all worked out,” Jiho says.

Jaebeom shakes his head and turns his gaze up towards the sky. “Un-fucking-believable.”

-.-

The eliminations for round six surprise everyone – no one expected Black Nut to be cut so early. It doesn’t make sense. The episode airs and the criticism from viewers pours in and in the midst of it all, Jiho does his best to help Minho and the rest of their team prepare for the Diss Battle of round seven. It’s almost a relief to not have to worry about Black Nut or his antics. It helps that both him and Minho know Minho’s opponent, Hanhae, not just as a colleague but as a friend too, giving them lots of material to work with

Of course, that means he has ample material on them as well. Unlike San E and some of the other contestants though, Jiho knows Hanhae has no ill will towards either of them, so it’ll be more friendly competition than anything harmful.

“I’m thinking of telling my bandmates about us,” Jiho says as he locks his studio door.

Minho rocks back and forth on his heels, sucking at his lower lip as he thinks. “Yeah. I want to tell the other guys too. I just worry about Taehyun.”

Jiho frowns and pockets his keys. “Why?”

“He…” Minho’s lips twist up like he’s smelled something unpleasant. “I don’t know. He’s really possessive of me a lot of the time, even if I’m just spending more time with Hoony or Jinu. I…I don’t know, everything’s really weird lately.”

“Weird in what way?”

Jiho has to stop himself from reaching out to touch Minho as they exit the building and begin heading down the street. It’s odd now. He’s spent so many years being careful with his hands and how much he allowed himself, but now that Minho is _his_ and he’s Minho’s, it’s hard to keep his hands to himself. Even if they weren’t in public, Jiho’s not sure touching Minho makes the most sense when Minho’s talking about people being possessive of him. Maybe he’s thinking about all of it too hard.

“It’s just tense. It’s always been tense, but like…” Minho shrugs and pulls his mask up over his face a little more. “Sometimes he and Yoon get into it and then he looks to me like I’m going to side with him but I don’t because…I don’t get to make the music I want to make either. Yoon is good at making music that everyone likes, but what Taehyun and I compose is more niche and that doesn’t work. And I get that, I’m happy with it. I still get to compose it’s just not all of it makes it anywhere. Taehyun’s not like that though.”

“So…would he do something to hurt you? Would he tell someone?” Jiho asks. If there’s anyone he’s more afraid of than God, he supposes YG would be in the running. YG could destroy his and Minho’s careers in a moment if the mood struck him right.

Minho shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. I just don’t want to upset him.”

“You don’t have to tell them then,” Jiho says. “You could just tell Yoon or something if you want someone to be aware but don’t want to tell everyone.”

Minho drifts into his space, knocking elbows with him. “You really don’t mind me telling them?”

“Not if you don’t,” Jiho says. “I mean we should be careful. It can’t get out, neither of us would survive that career wise, but…I think it makes sense for our bandmates to know given that things are different between us right?”

“True. Someone’s gonna have to help me sneak you into our dorm, right?” Minho asks, shooting a grin towards Jiho.

The insinuation makes Jiho’s stomach flip. They haven’t kissed since that afternoon at his parents’ house even though he’s wanted to. They just haven’t had much time alone. Even the studio they just left, they’d only had a few moments alone together after the rest of their team had headed out.

"Jiho?”

“Sorry,” he says, trying to ignore the sudden and desperate need to kiss Minho _right now_. “I was just thinking. You could always come to my dorm instead. We don’t have the same amount of uh…involvement from management that you guys do.”

“Miss me that much?” Minho asks, laughing a little even as he bounces a little bit more as he walks.

“Yes,” Jiho says. He stops, glancing around to make sure no one is within hearing range before grabbing Minho’s arm so that Minho will actually look at him. “I’ve spent so many years not touching you, all I want to do is touch you all the time now and it’s really distracting.”

Minho stares at him, mouth dropping open a little. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Minho pulls his phone out, tugging his arm out of Jiho’s grip as he punches in the passcode and begins to type. “I’m coming to your dorm tonight.”

"Thank fuck.”

-.-

Jiho’s never been more grateful to have Jihoon as a bandmate. The moment he and Minho show up, Jihoon begins needling and whining at the others to come with him for dinner, shooting them both a barely discreet thumbs up when Yukwon agrees and starts tugging Minhyuk up off the couch. Kyung and Taeil agree without much of a fight, heading off to get changed while Minhyuk complains.

"Want us to bring you something back?” Kyung asks.

“Nah we ate at the studio,” Jiho says.

"Hope you guys don’t mind me crashing,” Minho says. “Just wanted to get out of the building for a while, you know how it is.”

"You’re still an honorary member, so we won’t charge you,” Taeil says, popping up on his tip toes to pat Minho’s cheek as he and Kyung pass them in the hallway. “Try to actually relax instead of work while you’re here, huh?”

Minho smiles. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

They both hover by the door to Jiho’s bedroom until the lock finally turns and the voices of Jiho’s bandmates fade from the hallway.

“Jihoon is so gonna make fun of me for this,” Minho says.

“You and me both,” Jiho says.

He tugs Minho into his room, turning the light on and tossing his bag on the ground before shutting the door with a quick twist of the lock. The moment he turns around, his arms are full of Minho, their lips pressing together in a messy slide before they find a rhythm with each other again, their eagerness mellowing out into something more manageable as they get their hands on each other. He finds himself in love with the soft skin above the waistband of Minho’s jeans and the way Minho’s breath goes shaky against his lips.

It’s still hard to believe how badly he wants Minho. One kiss and it’s like they ripped down all the barriers that kept the desire that’s filling every inch of him at bay, any nerves about his inexperience burned away in its wake. He doesn’t have to be afraid with Minho. It’s _Minho_. The man who somehow stayed by his side no matter how much of a fool he made of himself. What’s it matter if he’s a little too clumsy?

"I wanna touch you,” Minho whispers as he breaks for a breath. “I want…”

Long fingers push under his shirt and Jiho’s head thunks back against the door at the teasing touch gliding over his stomach.

“Yeah, touch me,” Jiho says, breathless. The words taste like bliss because he’s finally free to ask for it. All of it. Anything that he wants.

So Minho touches him, lips pressing to his jaw as his fingers glide up Jiho’s sides, blunt nails making his skin shiver and jump as Minho rocks closer, pressing in tight to him so his fingers are smushed between them. Teeth graze his earlobe and his breath catches on a stuttered moan.

“You’re so sensitive,” Minho says, voice pitching low as he shifts to kiss at his neck.

“Not much experience,” Jiho says.

“Me neither,” Minho says

Curiosity draws Jiho out of his lust and he can’t help but smile as Minho flushes and avoids his gaze.

“Really? I thought you and Jihoon-“

Minho’s nose wrinkles. “No. It was just…we made out like one other time before you caught us but we weren’t really attracted to each other it was convenient I guess. He’s…it’s _Jihoon_.”

Jiho laughs but Minho shuts him up with another kiss, sucking at Jiho’s lower lip as his hand slips up higher and his fingers brush over Jiho’s nipple. Jiho gasps into the kiss, arching into Minho’s touch. Minho’s teeth catch his lip, the flash of pain when he bites and sucks blending with the pleasure from the way Minho keeps rubbing at his nipple and leaving his knees weak.

“B-Bed?”

Minho answers by pulling away and tugging Jiho after him by the front of his shirt, navigating easily around Jiho’s piles of laundry and then sitting on the bed when the backs of his knees hit it. Jiho goes to follow him but Minho stops him, tugging at his shirt. For a moment, Jiho hesitates. It’s not that he’s insecure it’s just…the gravity of the situation is more apparent now. Minho wants to touch him. Jiho wants Minho to touch him. He’s going to take his shirt off and Minho’s going to touch his chest and they’re going to kiss and…

“Is it too much?” Minho asks.

“I…don’t know,” Jiho says.

“Okay. Come here.”

Minho tugs him down onto his bed, arranging them until they’re lying on their sides, knees and legs tangling together, their heads sharing Jiho’s one pillow. It still has a Hello Kitty pillowcase. He feels like he should’ve thought ahead, like now that he’s in a relationship he’s suddenly in a new phase and he has to think about how it’s really unsexy to have a faded Hello Kitty pillowcase.

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asks.

“It’s really dumb,” Jiho says, cheeks heating.

“Tell me anyways,” Minho says, knocking one of his knees harder into Jiho’s.

“Just…we’re going to make out and my pillowcase looks like it belongs in a teen girl’s room,” Jiho says.

“Yeah, and you tattooed your mom’s face on your chest but I’m in love with you anyways,” Minho says. The smile he gives Jiho then is warm, the kind of smile that makes him feel like he’s standing outside in the sun in the middle of summer. “You’re thinking too hard about this.”

“I’ve spent almost every moment since I met you thinking about this,” Jiho says, throat tightening. “I just don’t want to get it wrong.”

“There’s nothing to get wrong,” Minho says. “It’s just us. I’m not judging you.”

And maybe that’s the crux of the issue. He’s never learned how to turn off the part of his brain that’s constantly judging himself so he can correct his behavior.

“Just kiss me, okay? I wanna touch you, you wanna touch me, it’s all okay,” Minho says.

It’s easier to listen then come up with a proper response. Jiho leans in, forehead pressed to Minho’s, and for a moment, all they do is share one another’s air. Minho’s hand rests along his hip. Jiho pushes forward and presses their lips together again, part of his brain marveling at how it feels so familiar now to have Minho’s lips beneath his. They kiss, slow and wet. Minho’s fingers slip under his shirt and around his back, but the touch doesn’t have any intention to it, only rubbing at the knobs of his spine as they continue to kiss.

Jiho shifts closer, thigh pressing up and then freezing when he feels how hard Minho is. Minho gasps against his lips and kisses him a little harder but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge it. That makes it easier to settle back into the rhythm of the soft kisses they trade back and forth. Pleasure and arousal burn in his gut like a banked fire, heating up his insides the longer they kiss. He finds himself wanting Minho’s fingers to push up further along his back and chest again like earlier, but he doesn’t want to pull away long enough to ask.

So he just keeps kissing him instead, until Minho begins to tremble against him, soft moans escaping him between kisses from every accidental drag of his cock against Jiho’s thigh. Jiho swallows hard and shifts his thigh up a little more. Minho groans then, an unintelligible string of half bitten words escaping him when Jiho pulls his lips away.

“Is that good?” Jiho asks, and he means to ask it genuinely but it comes out with a more dominant edge than he would’ve thought himself capable of.

The nod Minho gives him is almost frantic. “Yeah, feels good, feels…give me more, Jiho, please, touch me, please-“

Jiho slides a hand up to cup the back of Minho’s head, holding him steady as he kisses Minho deep while his other hand slides down to brace against Minho’s lower back to encourage him to move a little harder. Minho takes the encouragement just fine, hips snapping forward and then down, dragging his cock against Jiho’s thigh and up against his hip. It helps to see that Minho feels as undone as he does.

“Is that...” Jiho trails off, watching instead as Minho’s eyes slide shut and his cheeks flush a deep red as he continues to grind on Jiho’s thigh. It’s obvious that he likes it. Jiho doesn’t need to ask.

He leans forward and presses his lips to Minho’s jaw. Minho lets out a soft noise and leans back, giving Jiho room to kiss down his neck and suck at the hollow of his throat, keeping the action light so he doesn’t leave a mark. Curious, he slides his hand from Minho’s back to the front of his body and then down to cup his dick through his jeans. With jeans so tight, it’s easy to feel the shape of him.

“J-Jiho?”

Jiho looks back up from where his gaze had wandered down. Minho’s pupils are wide, his gaze somewhere caught between pleasure and fear of all things.

“What is it?”

"You’re not gonna…leave…right?”

It’s hard to breathe, the question sucking out all the air from the room. “No. I’m staying right here. I want to be here, I want to touch you, I want…” He squeezes, fingers grabbing at Minho’s cock and then slipping lower to brush over his balls through the rough fabric. “I want you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He realizes then, for all his inexperience and hesitancy, that he’s going to have to be the one to take charge. He has something to prove. Minho can’t trust him with the physical or the emotional if he doesn’t prove he’s changed and proved he has no intention of leaving. So he presses his lips to Minho’s again and undoes his zipper, slipping his hand inside and through the slit in his boxers to grip his cock for real. Minho shudders in his arms, a noise like a whimper spilling from his lips and onto Jiho’s.

“Shh, I got you,” Jiho says, hating the way his own voice wavers. “You like that?”

Minho nods, nose bumping Jiho’s and their lips press together again. It’s not even a kiss really, just their lips brushing each other as Minho gasps and pants, hips jerking up, up, up trying to match Jiho’s rhythm. His wrist cramps and throbs at the angle he has it at, but he doesn’t want to stop. Not when Minho looks like he’s already on the verge of coming apart and when that’s the very thing he’s dreamed about seeing for far too long.

He shoves his hand a little deeper, fingers slipping past Minho’s balls and pressing against his hole. He doesn’t mean to do more than that, but he doesn’t need to because the moment he does, Minho goes stiff in his arm, mouth dropping open and his voice cracking over Jiho’s name as he comes all over Jiho’s wrist and his shirt. Jiho pushes forward, pulling his hand out to grip Minho’s hip as he kisses him hard, taking advantage of Minho’s slack jaw to slide their tongues together and Minho sucks at his tongue as he lets out another soft noise.

“That was…” Minho takes a breath, leaning back. “Faster than I’m used to.”

"Well I left you waiting for a while, right?”

Minho smiles, sleepy and sated. “Worth it. I’ve thought about your hands on me like that for way too long.”

“Me too,” Jiho says.

Minho pulls away, tugging his shirt off as he sits up and cleaning the mess on his stomach and then Jiho’s hand and arm before tossing the shirt on the floor. Jiho swallows, the room suddenly feeling much warmer. He lets his gaze roam over Minho’s skin and the smattering of tattoos he’s started to acquire across his chest, turning his own skin into a canvas for his own doodles.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jiho says before he can think it over.

The smile Minho gives him is shy. He tucks himself back into his pants and leans back in the bed, curling into Jiho’s front. “You are too.”

"I’m not…not like you,” Jiho says.

He doesn’t make a habit of looking at the comments of antis, but he’s not blind. He owns a mirror. He knows how big his nose is and how his cheeks stay full just like Yoon’s do no matter how much weight he drops through diets and working out. There’s too many thoughts trying to crowd his mind in the aftermath of what they’ve done, and under all of it, a fear that he’ll have made Minho go through all of this only to let him down. It’s hard to know why it’s bothering him now of all times. He has a decent amount of proof that Minho likes him quite a bit after all.

“If I wanted to be with someone like me, I’d go kiss my reflection,” Minho says. “And I’m not just attracted to your physical body, I’m…Jiho, I’m in love with you. This is so much more than just attraction.”

Jiho ducks his head down, burying his face against Minho’s neck. Minho wraps his arms around him and holds him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as he does so and letting his hands rub up and down Jiho’s back.

“Can you keep saying it?” he asks, feeling quite small in Minho’s firm grip. “I…”

“I love you.” Minho kisses his head again. “I love you.”

-.-

The next morning, Jiho wakes before Minho. He hadn’t ended up getting off the night before, too wrapped up in his own need to hear Minho whisper how much he loved Jiho. In the clearer air of morning, it feels more obvious that he’d needed the reassurance that he wasn’t dirty or wrong for what he’d done. However right it had felt in the moment, the worry that he’ll be struck down for it still lingers. As he watches Minho breathe, each inhale and exhale slow and steady from his deep sleep, he hopes that given enough time, he’ll be able to unlearn that and be able to really act on his attraction the way he wants to.

He presses a kiss to Minho’s forehead, smiling when Minho’s brow crinkles and then smooths out again. After stretching, he rolls out of bed, picking up a pair of clean sweats off the chair in the corner of the room and tugging them on before opening his bedroom door and heading out to the kitchen. The smell of coffee greets him as he walks in and he sees Kyung at the dining table. He’s leaning on one hand as he scrolls through his phone, a mug of steaming coffee in front of him.

“Oh hey,” Jiho says.

“Morning,” Kyung says, voice thick with sleep. “There’s still some coffee in the pot if you want.”

"Thanks.”

Jiho goes to the kitchen area and grabs one of the mugs from the dish rack and pours himself a cup, waffling on if he should use creamer or not. He also wonders if now is the time to tell Kyung what’s been going on. It’ll be a while before anyone else wakes up.

“So…I think I’m ready to try and be your friend again,” Jiho says. “The way you want me to be I mean.”

When he looks back at Kyung, he sees Kyung’s finger hovering above his phone screen.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Jiho says. He decides to skip the creamer. He steps back over to the table, taking the seat right next to Kyung instead of across from him or on one of the other sides. “I’ve been hiding stuff from you and everyone else and I’m ready to stop. I think.”

Kyung shuts his phone screen off and straightens in his chair before taking a sip of coffee from his mug and fixing Jiho with a stare that feels cold. Jiho doesn’t really blame him. “I’m listening.”

Jiho takes a deep breath and looks down at his coffee. He may be ready to talk, sure, but looking someone in the eyes while he says it is harder than he thinks he can handle. “I’m gay. I’ve known I was gay since I was a kid, but I also knew if I was going to make music the way I wanted, I wouldn’t be able to act on it and more than that I thought it was…my priests taught me the only way to repent if I acted on it was to apologize sincerely as we apologize for all sins. But I also knew I wouldn’t ever be able to give a genuine apology.”

He hears Kyung inhale, but he can’t wait for whatever Kyung wants to say. Now that he’s talking, he needs to get it all out before his nerves get the better of him and drive him into silence once more.

“So I’ve been struggling with that for years. And then I fell in love with Minho, and then I realized Minho felt the same way, and it made everything worse than it already was, and I don’t…I don’t think it’s just my fault Minho left Block B, but it was definitely a part of it. I made him feel bad for being gay because I couldn’t accept it in myself,” Jiho says. “But I finally got my head out of my ass. I’ve talked to a lot of people and my mom, and Minho and I…I don’t want to say I’m okay with myself yet because I keep having these moments where I’m terrified that I’m dirty or wrong but, I’m trying. And I hope maybe now that I’m honest with myself I can be the leader Block B needs and the friend you deserve.”

Jiho exhales, harsh and rough when he finishes. For a moment, neither of them move or say anything. Then Jiho sneaks a glance over at Kyung to try and get a read on him, heart dropping to his stomach when he sees that Kyung is _crying_ , a hand pressed to his mouth and his expression pinched up tight.

“Kyung-“

"I’m so mad at you!” The words are quiet but intense.

“I…that’s fair,” Jiho says. “I am sorry.”

"I know you are,” Kyung says, hand reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “I know. And I’m sorry too for whatever I did to make you feel like you couldn’t fucking talk to me about all this.”

“It wasn’t anything you did, I promise,” Jiho says, leaning into Kyung. “I was scared of telling anyone because it would mean I couldn’t run from it, you know?”

He’s not expecting Kyung to shove him away just enough that he can turn and tug Jiho part way across his chair so he can pull him into a tight hug.

“You fucking idiot. You’re so fucking stupid, god dammit,” Kyung says. “You’re fine just the way you are and fuck everyone who ever told you that you weren’t.” He squeezes Jiho tighter and Jiho brings his arms up to return the hug.

“I mean it was mostly me telling myself that,” Jiho says with a laugh that comes out a little wet sounding as his eyes burn with yet more tears.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m mad at you too,” Kyung says. There’s pressure against the side of Jiho’s head as Kyung kisses him hard. “Thank you for finally being honest with me.”

Jiho swallows the instinctive apology that tries to claw its way out of his throat and nods instead. “I should probably also tell you that uh…me and Minho are dating now.”

Kyung laughs and lets him go. “I got a little suspicious after Jihoon working so hard to get us out of the apartment last night but…still, it’s nice to know you trust me enough to say something about it.”

“I’ll probably tell the rest of the group later,” Jiho says. “We still aren’t sure if he’s going to tell everyone in Winner or not. Maybe just Yoon.”

Kyung nods. “Whatever you need from us, we’ll be here. You may be our leader, but you’re our friend too.”

For the first time in far too long, Jiho actually feels like that’s true.

-.-

The next few days, Jiho lets himself get swept up in the newness of his and Minho’s relationship. It feels like he’s on cloud nine, like nothing can go wrong. They spend time in the studio together or with the rest of their team working on their diss battle ideas and refining lyrics. For the first time in ages, it feels like things are aligning properly. Like he can finally let go of the tension that he always keeps to stay on guard.

But it can’t last.

It’s late at night when the producers show up at the studio. It’s not normal. Usually, it’s just the camera crew and an intern who hang around during this type of filming since almost all of it will end up as b-roll with bit of their pre-round and post-round interviews cut in. The moment one of the producers enters the room, Jiho feels his heart sink into his stomach like a cold rock.

“There’s been some changes,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear as she readjusts her grip on her clipboard. “Team Brand New has swapped who they eliminated. They are bringing Black Nut into the round as Mino’s opponent instead.”

The thing is, Jiho knows how to act. His other bandmates give him shit for sometimes wearing his heart on his sleeve, and in some cases that is true, but the thing about hiding your sexuality for over a decade and carefully maintaining a specific image is that you get good at acting. Jiho knows how to look happy or calm or pleased when he’s anything but that. This time though, he finds his usual mask nowhere to be found.

“What?” Sanghyun asks.

Jiho’s glad he spoke because he doesn’t think anything remotely acceptable could come out of his mouth at the moment.

“The way we want this to look is Mino getting a call with the news,” she says, looking back down at her clipboard. “So we’ll do that. But I wanted to give you a proper heads up.”

“This isn’t a heads up,” Jiho says without thinking.

Sanghyun’s head turns, the movement sharp as he shoots Jiho a look. Jiho bites the inside of his cheek.

“So what you’re saying is I just worked over twenty-four hours on lyrics that are entirely useless,” Minho says.

Jiho looks at Minho and it hits him all at once that Minho is…angry. Not upset. It’s not that he’s seen Minho as a cry baby or something, but Minho has always been quick to cry and be overwhelmed by sorrow when something goes wrong. But what he sees when he looks at Minho is a blank stare and an empty smile of disbelief. In the tension of his shoulders and fists, Jiho can see the rage.

“You have two days left to prepare-“ the producer begins.

"No,” Jiho says. “Two days isn’t enough.” The producer looks flustered now, but Jiho doesn’t care. “You have to push out the filming date.”

Despite the words, he doesn’t let his voice get loud or color itself with just how angry he is, instead keeping his voice and facial expression as neutral as possible. He’s not going to give the cameras or the viewers the benefit of seeing him get angry.

“That would go against the current rules,” the producer says.

Sanghyun lets out a parking laugh as he shakes his head. “So San E and Verbal Jint can break whatever rules they like to put us at a disadvantage but you can’t give us the bare minimum of extending the time so we have a chance? I know you like to follow your scripts, but this is ridiculous.”

The producer shifts and pulls her phone out, frowning down at it. “I can make some calls and see what we can do. After that, we’ll re-film you finding out the news by a phone call and go from there.”

“What about what you’re filming right now?” Jiho asks.

“We’ll use whatever footage we deem necessary, it’s in your contracts,” the producer says, not even sparing him a glance.

“Then get out.”

She pauses from typing on her phone, frowning as she looks up. “What?”

Jiho unhooks his mic and steps forward, dropping it on her clipboard and then holding his hand back towards Minho who gets to his feet and passes his mic over for him to drop that one on her clipboard as well. “Get out of our studio. When you’ve arranged for the extra time, we’ll film your little scene. But you’re going to leave until then.”

“We-“

“I can always call security,” Sanghyun says.

It’s a relief to have Sanghyun’s presence. Jiho knows he’s famous, but fame doesn’t mean shit when you’re looking at a producer who thinks you’re still a child. Sanghyun’s words carry more weight.

“That won’t be necessary,” the producer states.

Sanghyun stands up and passes his mic over, smiling with too much politeness as the producer and camera and sound operators file out of the room. As soon as the door is shut, Jiho deflates, flopping back down in the studio chair. Minho sits back down on the couch, elbows on his knees as he runs his hands through his short hair, scratching at his own scalp like he needs something for his fingers to do.

“I don’t want to do this,” Minho says. His voice sounds strained, the way it does when he’s trying not to cry.

"Do what?” Sanghyun asks, turning to look at him even as he remains standing. “The show?”

"No just…I’m so fucking sick of dealing with Black Nut,” Minho says. He drops his hands back down, head still bowed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to whine, I know it’s just…it’s just dissing it’s not a huge deal, he just gets to me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Sanghyun says. “It can get to anyone.”

"Black Nut is a tool, and you’re smarter and braver than him,” Jiho says. “This situation is fucked, but it’s…” He shakes his head. “We can use this, both of us can. We know what Black Nut will go for, especially since San E is his producer, and we can use that against him because they’re both fucking hypocrites.”

“Minho,” Sanghyun says, kicking at Minho’s foot to get him to look up. “Are you angry?”

"Of course I’m angry,” Minho says. “I’m tired of listening to people shit on me for being an idol and having industry connections when they take advantage of the same thing.”

“So use that, and use your anger,” Sanghyun says. “Jiho is right. Both of you are here to establish credibility, aren’t you?”

Minho nods, leaning back on the sofa.

“Then don’t worry about winning this round,” Sanghyun says. “Point out their hypocrisy, point out their insecurity, and go after them in a way that proves they’re lesser rappers than you are. You know who you are. They don’t.”

“I honestly didn’t think a reality television show would turn into this much an issue,” Jiho says.

“You should both know as well as I do the sway media holds over people,” Sanghyun says.

“We get that,” Minho chimes in. “I just don’t think either of us expected to have to think about it to this degree.”

“Well now you both know better,” Sanghyun says. “So let’s film their stupid fake reaction for their show and then play their game better than them, yeah?”

-.-

"Minho…time to go home,” Jiho says.

Sanghyun left hours ago. Jiho knows if he goes outside, he’ll be able to catch the sunrise, and while he’s certainly done that before, he and Minho are both running on fumes.

“It’s not ready. I want to have the lyrics done so I can start practicing,” Minho says, pen tapping against the notepad as his leg bounces out a similar rhythm where he sits.

“We both need to sleep,” Jiho says.

He stands behind where Minho sits in the studio chair, hands sliding down to rub at Minho’s neck until Minho lets out a sigh, head bowing. Exhaustion makes his own gaze blurry. He wishes he was as eloquent as Sanghyun, but he supposes he doesn’t have the extra near decade of experience he has. Then again…he isn’t Minho’s protector, is he? They’re equals, now more than ever, no matter the titles of producers and contestant.

“Want to sleep back at mine?” Jiho asks.

Minho shakes his head and pulls himself to his feet, shutting his journal and tossing it towards the couch where his bag is before stretching his arms above his head with a loud noise of contentment as he does so. “I need to have my own space.”

“You mean you want to work without anyone telling you to stop,” Jiho says.

Minho smiles when he turns to face Jiho, but Jiho’s just relieved to see the simmering hurt and anger from earlier in the day long gone. “Maybe. I’ll see you in what…twelve hours?”

Jiho nods and then steps around the studio chair and wraps his arms around Minho’s waist, because he can. He kisses him, soft and gentle, because he can. Minho sighs and runs his fingers through Jiho’s hair as he steals another kiss before he pulls away, his smile a little sadder now.

“I don’t have the energy for more,” Minho says.

“It wasn’t supposed to lead to anything else,” Jiho says. “I just want to…kiss you.”

Minho’s lips part and Jiho’s heart thuds a little bit faster as he gets the full Minho smile that always makes his spirit feel so much warmer. “You’re so sappy. It’s cute though.”

Jiho makes a flustered noise, hands slapping up to cover his cheeks which he can feel heating up as Minho laughs. It takes another few stolen kisses before they’re able to part ways. Despite how frustrating the evening had started, Jiho feels light as he walks back to the dorm. He wonders if this is what it’s like to really be happy.

-.-

_Jaebeom: I heard what San E and them did (Sent 4:45 PM)_

_Such bullshit (Sent 4:45 PM)_

_You better kick their ass (Sent 11:35 AM)_

Jiho reads the messages and sets his phone aside before turning his attention back to Minho who’s bouncing on his heels and shaking out his arms as he tries to shake out the jitters from messing up his lyrics again. Sanghyun’s expression remains unreadable.

“Try again,” Sanghyun says and hits play on the speakers.

_Dongwook: I’m glad you and Minho are together (Sent 6:03 PM)_

_I’m totally going to brag about helping you get your head out of your ass any time you complain to me now (Sent 6:07 PM)_

"Fuck!”

Jiho winces and watches as Minho crouches down, driving the heels of his palms against his head again and again as he mutters the lyrics under his breath again. He’s beginning to wonder if even with the extra time they have, hey’ll be able to pull out anything at all or if Minho is going to be stuck not even knowing all his lyrics.

“We could cut some of the bars out,” Sanghyun says.

“No,” Jiho says when Minho goes quiet at the suggestion. “He’ll get it. Give him time.”

_Daniel: Don’t work too hard. Eventually you’re just hitting your head against a wall (Sent 8:29 PM)_

_Daniel: This is me saying I know what happened with San E (Sent 8:29 PM)_

_Daniel: Don’t let Minho get stuck in his head (Sent 8:35 PM)_

"One more time,” Sanghyun says.

"No,” Jiho interjects. He looks at Daniel’s message and then clicks his phone’s screen off before looking at Sanghyun. “We’re not going to make any more progress like this. We need to take a break.”

“I can-“ Minho starts.

“Nope, we’re taking a break,” Jiho says. “I’ll order food.”

"I’ll go pick it up,” Sanghyun says, pushing himself up out of his chair. “I need some air anyways.”

They settle on a soup place from nearby and Sanghyun departs with their orders in a text message on his phone. Jiho looks back at Minho, heart aching from the obvious frustration he sees in his face. Minho hasn’t cried, but his eyes look bloodshot like he has been for hours.

“Hey,” he says, heading over to the couch and sitting down next to him, reaching out to squeeze Minho’s knee. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Forgetting my lyrics isn’t going to make me look good,” Minho says.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Jiho says. “What are you afraid of?”

Minho looks at him like he’s grown an extra head. “Are you serious?”

“Just tell me. I think I know but I’m not a mind reader,” Jiho says.

“It’s…I’m afraid of losing,” Minho says.

“It’s okay if we lose,” Jiho says. “Sure, someone goes home. That sucks, but it’s a competition show and someone always has to go home.”

Minho’s eyes narrow. “But if I forget my lyrics, I look like an idiot. And then we lose the round and I won’t even be able to look good to anyone and I’ll just have to listen to people say I fucked up because I’m an idol and don’t know what I’m doing.”

Jiho raises an eyebrow. “How’s that different than if you win?”

Minho opens his mouth and then stops, mouth clicking shut as he frowns. “I…”

"It’s like you said in those interviews, right? If you lose, you lose and confirm what everyone thought about you. If you win, you still lose because people will refuse to believe you did it on your own skill,” Jiho says. He rubs Mino’s thigh and gives it another squeeze. “So don’t worry about them. Just give a performance you can be proud of.”

“I’m not going to be proud if I forget my lyrics,” Minho says.

“You’ve been performing for how long again?” Jiho asks.

Minho rolls his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

"How many songs did you learn and perform for YG every week of training?”

"That’s not the-“

“How many dance routines did you memorize and perform? How many ballads did you sing? Huh?” Jiho elbows his side. “You know what you’re doing. You’re just psyching yourself out because you’re letting Black Nut of all people get into your head.”

“You’re going to have an answer to anything I say, aren’t you?” Minho asks.

“Sorry,” Jiho says. He swallows, the words he needs to say suddenly right at the tip of his tongue. “I’ve got faith in you Minho. You’ll be fine.”

Minho stares, eyes widening. Jiho glances at his phone for just a moment, confirming that Sanghyun won’t be back any time soon, and then he’s leaning across the space between them, kissing Minho’s brow and then his lips.

“I have faith in you Minho, okay? You get it?”

Minho nods, their lips brushing together. “Got it.”

-.-

Minho doesn’t forget his lyrics. The attacks from Black Nut are more of the usual, though Jiho would be lying if he said the lines about Minho getting kicked out of Block B don’t hurt. Then again, he has no issue lying to the cameras. He can see it in Minho’s eyes too after the line. Their eyes don’t meet when Minho looks at him because of Jiho’s sunglasses, but in that split second Jiho can see the hurt he’s strategically hiding. It makes something ugly and cold curdle in his gut because it’s _his_ fault. He’s the reason Black Nut’s words hurt.

Because everything about that night was nothing but hurt and pain and ugly words Jiho hurled at Minho so he wouldn’t have to hurl them at himself.

He can’t even be upset with Black Nut because it’s an obvious tactic, an obvious weakness, and he has no way of knowing the real nerve it’s hit. That’s something only Jiho can blame himself for. His fingers curl into fists where he has them shoved under his elbows. There’s nowhere for him to aim his anger but at himself, not when at the end of the day it’s his actions that have left Minho so open and vulnerable. He can’t blame San E for breaking the rules, or Black Nut for being an asshole. He can’t blame their old CEO. He can’t blame Minho’s father.

Maybe that’s what accountability is. Acceptance. Loving Minho isn’t a sin, but the harm he’d done certainly is. It takes everything in him to keep his expression unreadable, determined not to give Mnet anything to work with to cause more unnecessary drama.

Despite everything, he feels nothing but pride when Minho delivers his rebuttal, not to Black Nut but to San E. The knot of anxiety in his chest loosens with every line, especially when he looks across the ring and sees the rage in San E’s eyes and the twitch of his jaw and that…that makes a smile tug at the corners of his lips but he doesn’t want to give San E the pleasure of getting a single unscripted interaction out of him.

It’s a good performance and Black Nut’s showboating may work in the short term but Jiho knows enough to know that the blatant disrespect he shows during Minho’s performance will help him and Minho both. It’s like Sanghyun said. It’s not about winning the show, it’s about accomplishing the goals the show helps them with. They wanted credibility and no matter how Mnet cuts this…even if they lose the public will be on their side. That’s all they need.

-.-

After the round, after they _lose_ , and after Jiho and Sanghyun send Ja Mezz home, Jiho finds himself in the backstage bathroom that is becoming much too familiar. He’s pretty sure the producers are catching on that he doesn’t actually have to go. He lets out a sigh and rubs at the spot on his cheek that he can still feel the tape of his mic even though he’d already handed his back in. His sweat had made it so some of the sticky residue stayed behind.

The door opens and he lets out another sigh when he sees Minho slip inside. For a moment, they both just look at each other and Jiho watches as Minho’s brow pinches and his lower lip trembles like some cliché in a drama and he closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Minho’s shoulders and dragging him close. It’s just in time as a sob escapes him, muffled in Jiho’s jacket as his hat falls on the ground.

"Hey, it’s okay,” Jiho says.

“I don’t…fuck…I’m such a fucking baby,” Minho gasps out.

“You’re not,” Jiho says.

“It’s a fucking….” Minho inhales, rough and ragged and Jiho tugs him back so he can lean back against the bathroom door, keeping it closed just in case. “…fucking diss, it’s not a big deal.”

"Bringing up the most painful night of our lives isn’t just a diss, even if he doesn’t know why it matters,” Jiho says. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry it’s hurting you now, that’s on me, not you.” It doesn’t even hurt to admit his fault. It’s…like a confessional. But it’s better than that because it’s not just to bring healing to himself but to bring healing to the person he hurt. He kisses the top of Minho’s head.

“I shouldn’t b-be crying over this…”

Minho’s hands twist the fabric of his jacket and Jiho tries to hug him even closer, tries to impress in him with just his embrace that it’s okay.

“You didn’t let anyone see your weakness, and that’s damn impressive, but your weakness isn’t bad,” Jiho says, ignoring how tight his throat feels. “Being hurt and letting yourself feel it is braver than the shit me and San E and everyone else does, you know? So what if you’re crying? We’re the cowards who don’t.”

“I didn’t want to leave-“

“Minho-“

“I didn’t want to leave you or Block B even when you said all those things,” Minho gasps out, lips moving fast against Jiho’s neck as he speaks in a rush. “I just wanted you to stop hurting me but I didn’t want to ruin everything and never perform together and I’m sorry-“

Jiho pulls Minho’s head out of his neck, cradling his face between his hands and rubbing his tears away with his thumbs, everything in him aching at the pain he sees in Minho’s face. “None of that is your fault. Never apologize for my actions, Minho, okay? That’s on me. I was wrong. Me. Not you. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere, and I am never going to run away from you trying to process your pain. I don’t mind…” He presses his forehead to Minho’s, words failing him. “I just…I want to be the one who gives you the space you need to be vulnerable without being scared.”

It’s not a confession meant to be given in a bathroom of a producing studio, but then, nothing in their lives has happened at the right time. But he means it. He’s spent years running from his love of Minho and being the one Minho had to be afraid of. All he can think of now is all the times he’s left Minho to deal with his pain on his own because the person he was supposed to trust the most was the one who was hurting him the most.

“I don’t know how long it will take you to trust me again, but I’m willing to wait,” Jiho says. “But in the meantime, please don’t talk about yourself like you’re bad because you’ve been hurt. You aren’t.”

Minho closes his eyes, pushing himself back into Jiho’s grip and burying his face back in the crook of Jiho’s neck. “I’m just scared. I wish I wasn’t scared.”

“What are you scared of?” Jiho asks, rubbing a hand up and down Minho’s back.

"Of letting anyone see how everything affects me and I don’t just mean this show and the dumb shit people say, I mean…everything with Winner. The way everything I do gets picked apart, and I know…I _know_ that’s what I signed up for and I don’t regret it, but I’m still scared that I could lose it all.” Minho sniffs, the noise wet and loud. “I can’t afford to fail again.”

“You won’t,” Jiho says. “You debuted, for _real_ , and even if Winner falls apart, your name is out there now in a way people can’t ignore. No matter what happens, it’ll be okay. It’s okay to be afraid, but you can’t stop now just because you’re scared.”

He’s not sure where the conviction is coming from, but he does believe it. The whole reason he’d spent so long running from Minho in the first place was because of how brightly he shone, a light that drew you in and couldn’t be ignored.

“Come home with me tonight,” Jiho says. “I don’t want you to be alone. _I_ don’t want to be alone.”

Minho nods. “Thank you.”

He helps Minho dry his tears and clean his face, wiping the make-up that had managed to survive his tears away with a careful touch and then passing him paper towels to dry his face as he washes his hands. For a moment, he thinks it’s going to be okay. Then the door opens and San E waltzes in. He watches in the mirror as the soft and open expression in Minho’s face shutters, the nonchalant smile sliding onto his face.

“Congratulations on your win,” Minho says.

San E looks put off by the remark, jaw clenching as he moves past them towards one of the urinals with nothing more than a nod. It takes everything in Jiho not to laugh. Sure, they might have lost the round, but Jiho has a feeling Minho’s lyrics will be lingering in San E’s ears for a long time.

-.-

“So you and Minho.”

Jiho curses, smacking his head against the kitchen cabinet he was pulling mugs from for tea. He turns around, glaring when he sees Taeil sitting on the living room couch in the dark, his own mug of tea in hand. “You could’ve warned me when I walked in here.”

Taeil grins. “But scaring you is so easy.”

"You’re the worst.” Jiho turns back to the counter, grabbing the electric kettle off its perch and moving over to the sink to fill it. “What about me and Minho?”

“He’s been over a lot, that’s all,” Taeil says. “It’s curious.”

“I just took your advice,” Jiho says. “I’m supporting him and not caring what a bunch of nobodies think of us.” He shuts the faucet off and sets the kettle on the counter next to the sink. “I guess I should thank you for that bit of advice, huh?”

Taeil waves a hand dismissively. “I was just saying what everyone else was.”

“Maybe.” Jiho turns back around and puts the kettle on the heater, flicking it on and watching it bubble to life as he fights a yawn.

"You know, I talk to Jaehyo sometimes about how weird it is that we’re the oldest but we never have to worry about anything. We’re spoiled,” Taeil says.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhm.” There’s a loud sipping noise as Taeil drinks. “You bend yourself over backwards to make sure we don’t have to take care of things we could take care of, or should.”

“I’m the leader,” Jiho says, watching the bubbles rise.

“You’re our friend too,” Taeil says. “We appreciate what you do, you know, even if we don’t always say it or express it. It’s nice to see things start working out for you though. You deserve it.”

Jiho frowns at the kettle, brain trying to process what exactly it is that Taeil is trying to say. Still frowning, he turns to look at him. “I…”

Taeil raises and eyebrow and takes another sip. “You and Minho. I may like bats, but I’m not actually blind myself, you know? It’s not just friendship, is it?”

“We weren’t…” Jiho flushes. “We haven’t told many people yet. It’s not safe.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m not offended,” Taeil says. This time when he gives a dismissive wave of his hand, the sleeve of his sweater slides down to cover his whole hand. “I’m not going to tell anyone, it’s just a relief to finally see you look like you aren’t moments from being hunted down or something. I’ve been worried, that’s all.”

“I didn’t mean to worry anyone,” Jiho says.

“Too bad, people care about you,” Taeil says, unfolding his legs and raising up from the couch. He walks into the kitchen and brushes past Jiho on his way to the sink. “We’ll always worry about you, and we’ll always be here for you when things get rough.”

“You can’t promise that,” Jiho says. “If this gets out, I won’t let it drag all of you down too.”

Taeil dumps the remainder of his tea down the drain and fills the mug halfway with water before turning back towards Jiho, reaching out to pat his cheek. “I think we’ve made it pretty clear that when it comes to music, we have each other’s backs, and when It comes to personal stuff, we aren’t just bandmates, we’re friends too. Fuck the public.” He gives Jiho a stern look. “You’re allowed to be happy, and I’m pretty sure we’re all on whatever side it is that makes you happy, because that’s what you’ve always done for the rest of us even at your own expense.”

“It helps to hear,” Jiho says. “I…I guess I always knew but it helps to know I’m not alone.”

Taeil squeezes his shoulder as he walks past him again. “You never have been.”

Jiho watches him head down the hallway, chest feeling lighter than it has all day, before turning back to the kettle as it switches off and the boiling water goes still. He pours it into two mugs and drops his and Minho’s favorite tea bags into their respective cups. It’s hard to wrap his brain around how much his outlook has changed in such a short amount of time, going from a space where he couldn’t accept any help to one where it doesn’t scare him to hear people are on his side.

He’d done so much damage to himself and those around him just to prop up a lie. Without that holding him back…everything else was easier.

When he reaches his room, he heads towards the nightstand, setting his tea mug on it before knee walking his way onto the bed as Minho sits up and makes grabby hands at the second mug of tea. He hands it over with a smile and then sits down, back to the headboard.

“You took a while,” Minho says.

“Sorry, Taeil wanted to talk,” Jiho says. He grabs his tea and takes a sip, sighing as the warm liquid slides down his throat and warms his too empty belly. It’s been too long since he last ate but he’s not hungry. “He guessed about us.”

"Taeil is smart,” Minho says. “So that just leaves Yukwon, Jaehyo, and Minhyuk who don’t know, right?”

“Yeah, I’m not in a hurry,” Jiho says. “I just want to focus on us and this stupid show.”

Minho snorts and turns back to his phone. Jiho leans into him, tucking his head against Minho’s shoulder and neck as he watches him scroll through his social media feeds, straightening every so often to sip his tea. It’s odd, the way sitting with him like this feels so relaxing. He thinks of all the times he’s held himself back and apart, every inch of him hyper aware of what part of him touched what part of Minho. A careful dance of getting the touch he wanted without being tempted. Now, he can just lean into Minho, cuddle him, hug him, whatever he wants because he doesn’t have to be afraid of it turning into more.

“I like this,” Minho says, as if reading Jiho’s thoughts. “I like being here with you, especially after everything tonight.”

"That’s why I invited you,” Jiho says, propping his chin against Minho’s shoulder and then kissing his neck. “Tonight sucked.”

“We really don’t have to rehash it,” Minho says. “I’ve already forgiven you, you know? For. All of that. It just hurt to have it thrown at me by him if all people.”

“How do you forgive me so easily?” Jiho asks. He shifts long enough to set his mug back on the nightstand before burrowing himself back in Minho’s side, arm slinging over Minho’s stomach.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m a doormat,” Minho says. “But I think part of it is how quickly you’ve changed? Like…it’s like once you got it all off your chest you didn’t care anymore, and I finally got to have the Jiho I’ve always known was there but haven’t been able to interact with. But…you feel real now. And I trust that. It’s like I’m finally getting the you I’ve been seeing glimpses of here and there for years.”

“I was thinking about it,” Jiho says. “When I was making our tea, I mean, about how it feels like this sudden fast change where I’ve been moving through this fog my whole life and now that it’s gone I just…I’ll do whatever I have to do I don’t feel that way ever again.” He slides his hand up beneath Minho’s shirt to rest against his ribs, comforted by the warmth of his skin and the way he can feel each breath. “It’s like discovering God.”

“Don’t put me on a pedestal like that,” Minho says, voice weary.

"I’m not,” Jiho says. “I just mean that it’s like I gave this sudden clarity and I want to act in that image.”

“You know it’s okay if you mess up right?” Minho says. “You don’t have to be perfect just…as long as you’re trying I’m happy.”

“Still, I’ll work hard not to let you down again,” Jiho says.

“Thanks,” Minho says. “But you know what I want you to work hard at right now?”

Jiho’s eyes narrow. “Minho…”

“I can’t help it that the emotional rollercoaster of today left me horny,” Minho says, laughing when Jiho pulls away and shoved at him, nearly spilling tea in the process. Minho sets it aside so it’s safe and then bumps Jiho’s shoulder. “You don’t have to, but I do sort of want to get off. Helps me sleep.”

Jiho thinks for a moment before nodding. “Okay. But I wanna try something new. It might be bad.”

Minho waggles his eyebrows and Jiho rolls his eyes even as he shifts down on the bed and parts Minho’s legs, settling between them on his stomach. When he looks up, Minho looks much more serious.

"You sure?” Minho asks. “It’s pretty…”

“Gay?”

Minho nods.

“Good thing I’m gay then.”

It feels weird, the words coming out of him without the usual fear chasing them up through his chest. It makes him feel…giddy? He hooks his fingers in the hem of Minho’s sweats and tugs them down, exposing his hips, his thighs, and his half-hard cock. That’s an odd thought too – that. All it takes is him getting between Minho’s legs. For a moment, he almost changes his mind, not out of shame or anything so negative, but because he wants to give Minho the best and he knows he can’t. Not when he doesn’t have any experience.

Fingers slide through his hair and trace the shell of his ear. He doesn’t need to look at Minho to know the touch is meant to be reassurance that he can do whatever he wants and Minho won’t be disappointed. The reminder helps still his nerves. He grasps Minho’s cock in his hand and shifts to slip his lips around the tip, dropping his jaw open so he can tuck his teeth behind his lips as he slides his tongue over the slit. Minho’s skin tastes clean, the salt of his pre-come spreading across his tongue as he rubs his tongue against the tip of his cock.

“F-Fuck…”

The curse prompts Jiho to look up, a thrill of arousal cutting through his own sleepiness and lighting a low fire in his belly when he sees the heated way Minho stares at him. He closes his eyes, cheeks heating with a flush as he bobs his head down a little further. His jaw aches from the stretch as the head of Minho’s cock slides across his tongue, back and back until it nudges the back of his throat and he has to pull off with a gasp.

Before Minho can ask if he’s okay, he pushes back down, starting with his tongue again and sliding down a little further. It’s messy and wet, drool escaping around his tongue and lower lip as he sets up a slow rhythm with what he can take, pausing as he pulls up to slip his tongue over the tip a few times before sliding back down. Despite his lack of skill, he can hear Minho gasping above him and feel the way his fingers curl in Jiho’s hair. It’s…hot. Knowing he can make Minho feel like this.

He gags again when he goes too far, but he stays even when Minho tugs at his hair, letting his throat spasm around the tip which only serves to make Minho’s hips kick up and shove himself a little deeper. Jiho can only hold it for another second before he’s pulling off with a rough cough. His eyes water, tears of effort spilling over. One of Minho’s thumbs wipes the moisture away, his long fingers prompting Jiho to look up at him.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Minho says.

Jiho just shakes his head. “Doesn’t hurt. Want to make you feel good.”

“I…okay.”

It’s weird how relaxed he feels once he finds a good rhythm, moving his hand with his mouth, the wet sound of his actions filling the room with Minho’s soft sighs and the occasional whimper of his name punctuating the air. He’s making Minho feel good. It’s not dirty or wrong or bad, and his own dick strains in his shorts as he works Minho over. He shifts to slide his lips down along the side of Minho’s cock, but the action makes him grind against the mattress for a moment and he ends up groaning, eyes fluttering at the sensation.

“Are you…are you hard?” Minho asks.

Jiho nods, unable to open his eyes as embarrassment floods him.

“Fuck, that’s so hot, holy shit, please…show me,” Minho says. “Jiho…suck me off and make yourself feel good.”

The noise that escapes him is more desperate than he’s comfortable acknowledging, but he distracts himself by driving his hips down into the mattress as he sucks at the base Minho’s cock, hand squeezing the tip. It’s hard to think with the taste and smell of Minho’s cock on his tongue and nose and the sound of Minho’s enjoyment in his ears. Add in the shocks of pleasure the pulse up through his pelvis at every press of his hips and he’s…

“Ah…”

He gasps, twisting his head to press against Minho’s hip even as he bites his bottom lip to stop himself from moaning.

“Come up, come on, come here,” Minho urges, tugging at Jiho’s shoulders and neck and Jiho pushes himself up, trying to obey.

He ends up pressed up tight to Minho’s side, face buried against his shoulder as he helps stroke Minho off even as he drives his own cock against Minho’s hip. It feels good, even if it’s juvenile and messy and he feels entirely out of control of his actions. He stares at Minho’s cock, watches the red and wet tip disappear between his own fingers as he strokes Minho fast and rough. Minho’s heels press into the mattress and he bucks up, head hitting the headboard as he comes with a sharp inhale and then a gasp of Jiho’s name. He barely has time to appreciate the sight before he’s being pushed onto his back.

Minho shoves his sweats the rest of the way off, pushing his hands up under Jiho’s shirt and hiking it up around his chest before yanking his shorts down so he can press their bare cocks together. Jiho hisses at the warmth and the wetness of his own saliva and Minho’s come pressing against his sensitive cock.

“Like that?” Minho asks.

Jiho nods, feeling frantic, but he feels better when Minho presses their lips together and encourages Jiho to grind up against him. It’s messy and wet but that somehow makes it better. Because it’s Minho’s come. He made Minho feel good and he came and now he’s going to make Jiho feel good with it, make a mess of him, make-

“M-Minho…” Jiho bites at Minho’s lower lip as he comes, shaking through it as he gets both their stomachs wet with it.

Minho kisses him hard, tongue slipping into his mouth and his hand cupping the back of Jiho’s head with a strong grip that has everything in him melting in relief. It’s not so scary to come apart when Minho holds him after all. They kiss until Jiho stops shaking, until their heartbeats slow down and their breath stops coming out so frantically.

“I can’t…believe I came that fast,” Jiho says once he pulls back, his cheeks so hot he feels like his face is on a fire.

“I mean, we _are_ young,” Minho says, rubbing a hand down Jiho’s back. “Plus it’s kinda hot.”

Jiho buries his face back in Minho’s neck to hide his own embarrassed smile as Minho laughs. “We need to sleep.”

“You just don’t wanna talk about how fast you came,” Minho says.

Jiho twists Minho’s nipple, listens to him squeal and then laugh and enjoys the way that even when he searches deep inside himself, he can’t find even a shred of guilt.

-.-

The first stage goes as expected. It gives Jiho time to rest and reset his own thoughts, relax into the rhythm of creation and production and performance, and it feels even better to get on stage alongside Minho and Sanghyun both. The energy of the performance feels easy and leaves him shaking with adrenaline even as he finishes prying his mic pack off after the last of the post filming interviews.

“Where you headed after this?” Sanghyun asks as he does the same.

“Studio,” Jiho says. “I’m not going to be able to sleep like this.”

“You work too hard, kid,” Sanghyun says, then tilts his head to the side. “But you look better lately, so I guess I can’t lecture you too much, huh?”

“You think so?” Jiho asks.

Sanghyun just nods and slaps him on the back in a way that feels affectionate and congratulatory all at once. There’s a text on his phone from Minho asking if he’s going to his studio. He smiles as he types out his affirmative and hops in the car with his manager.

It’s pushing two in the morning, but even if he went home he knows he’d just end up keeping the others up as he moved restlessly around the dorm and outside in the alley, burning through cigarettes as he tries to channel it all. Better to put it to use. Better to try and create something with the memory of a performance alongside Minho at the forefront of his mind. He knows with the way they are, with the way YG is, that once the show ends the likelihood of him and Minho ending up on stage together again is small. It’s just the way things are.

But that doesn’t bother him the way it used to, because he has a piece of Minho that his company never will. Perhaps that’s a bit possessive. Jiho isn’t sure he cares all that much.

He orders dinner when he receives texts from Kyung and Dongwook both reminding him to eat, chest warming at how well his friends know him. Then it’s to his computer, headphones plugged into the keyboard as he cycles through different samples and tinkers around on the keyboard absentmindedly, waiting for a melody to hit him as he plays around. A few chords sound nice in sequence, mournful almost but not quite dark either. He types a few notes on his laptop to remember them and starts fucking around with beats next. His phone buzzes.

_Minho: Sleeping in my own bed feels weird now (Sent 2:47 AM)_

_I liked sleeping next to you (Sent 2:47 AM)_

The chords echo in his head, refusing to leave. He returns to his keyboard and listens to the beat pounding from his laptop as he plays with different rhythms for the chords themselves. He wonders what it’s like to be Daniel, to be Tablo. He wonders what it’s like to create a song that manages to be so sad but somehow still full of hope, and wonders if he even has anything approaching the skill to do something similar. Something about the chords…maybe.

He’s not under any allusions that he’ll be the next Tablo. That requires a bravery he just doesn’t feel. He’s never been the type to rip himself open and lay himself bare with his lyrics for others to poke around in, especially since he hadn’t been able to even be honest with himself let alone his fans or the casual listener. Is that something an idol even _could_ do? It’s not like Tablo went from the idol world to the rap and hip-hop world after all. His career wasn’t built on an entirely false pretense.

Honesty on that level isn’t something he thinks he’d even want to have with the public, even if he didn’t have something worth hiding. Maybe that makes him a coward, but if he’s honest with himself, and with Minho, if he isn’t hurting himself and everyone around him because of it, than he supposes it can’t be all that bad. It’s not like the public deserves to know every fear he carries with him.

But still. He wants to create something one day that can resonate the way Amor Fati did for him in the moment he needed it.

_Minho: this was me asking you to come over btw (Sent at 3:13 AM)_

_Minho: pls come over when you’re done (Sent at 3:15 AM)_

_Minho: I’ll sneak you in (Sent at 3:15 AM)_

So maybe he can’t be honest the way he wants. At the very least, he can still create a melody that makes people feel less alone. That was his whole problem to begin with. He’d tried to go at it alone, building walls and protecting the parts of himself he had thought would be ripped apart if he let anyone see them. But if he’d just let someone in, it wouldn’t have gotten as out of control as it did. Things that are scary when someone’s alone become easier to bear when they have friends to lean on.

A song isn’t a friend, but it can remind people that they aren’t alone. He can do that. He can take that fear and turn it into a melody that can bring people comfort.

-.-

Jiho leaves his studio at seven in the morning with a complete track, stops for coffee at Minho’s favorite joint, and surprises him with it delivered straight to his dorm door. Minho accepts it while still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Sorry, I haven’t slept yet,” Jiho says.

“You’re impossible,” Minho says as he locks the door behind Jiho once he steps inside.

Yoon is on the couch, cooing at one of the hairless cats Jinu has, Bei. “Producer Zico works very hard, Bei, we all need to learn to be robots like him.”

“I’m dumping your coffee down the sink,” Jiho calls.

Yoon sets Bei aside and scrambles to his feet, practically running over. “Producer Zico is the best producer, he’s my favorite, I’m his number one fan and would never ever insult him.”

Jiho rolls his eyes and hands over the other coffee. “Sorry if I kept Minho up worrying about me. I just got really into it. I think I…made something good.”

“Are you going to let us listen?” Minho asks as he slides into one of the barstools and sips at his coffee.

Jiho reaches into his pocket to pull out the thumb drive, tossing it across the room to him. “I need to shower but feel free.”

“Ah, so you brought the coffee to bribe us,” Yoon says with a dramatic nod. “Always thinking ahead.”

Jiho tousles Yoon’s hair just to watch him grin and heads for the bathroom. For a moment, he’s tempted by the soaking tub, but he has a feeling if he uses it, he’ll immediately fall asleep, plus he isn’t sure what everyone else’s schedule is. No sense in using up their space and making them late because he’s irresponsible. Instead, he showers and changes into his still dirty clothes, but it helps wake him up a bit.

When he heads back out to the living room, he sees Yoon and Minho bent over the coffee table sharing a pair of headphones that are plugged into Yoon’s laptop as they listen. Yoon pulls his headphone out and smiles up at him when he sees him.

“It’s really good, not what I’m used to from you,” he says.

“I’ve written slower ballads before,” Jiho says.

“This isn’t really a ballad though,” Minho says, head nodding along to the beat before he reaches out and hits pause. “It’s strange. It makes me feel sad but in a good way?”

Yoon nods his agreement. “The chord progression is smart and draws you in. Once you put some matching lyrics to this, I think you’ll have something that really makes people feel something.”

“What’s it even for?” Minho asks.

“I don’t know yet,” Jiho says, even though he sort of does. “It’s for you though.”

Minho blinks and Yoon ducks his head to hide his face, back of his hand covering his mouth as his shoulders shake. “What?”

Yoon nudges Minho’s side. “You two are so sappy, it makes me sick.”

Jiho flushes, hand flying up to rub at the back of his neck as he ducks his own head. “See if I ever buy you lunch again.”

“I’m so sorry, Producer Zico, you are a very tough man who does not do anything sentimental or cute, my sincerest apologies for suggesting otherwise,” Yoon says as he looks up with a comically serious face.

It’s Minho’s turn to nudge Yoon then, rolling his eyes before looking back at Jiho. “Are you thinking of using this for the next stage?”

"Maybe? If…I know you want to win against Black Nut. _I_ want to win against him and San E and Verbal too,” Jiho says. “Maybe this could. What did you have in mind?”

Minho looks uncomfortable, shoulders hunching up and in the way they do when he’s trying to shrink himself out of view when he gets lectured by choreographers or worse, YG. “I…you’re both going to think it’s a bad idea.”

“Tell us anyways,” Yoon says, rubbing the space between Minho’s shoulders.

“I want to write something honest,” Minho says and when Jiho inhales he looks up, frantic. “Not about us! But like…about myself. I want to do that and I think with something like this backing it, it could be really good.”

“Are you sure you want to do that with San E watching?” Jiho asks. “You don’t have to expose yourself like that to him just to win a fucking show.”

Minho nods. “San E is a coward. I’m not. I’m afraid of what people might think of me, but I’m not a coward. And I wanna rub his face in it.”

"Then let’s do it,” Jiho says. “But…I really need to sleep first.”

Minho stands up and grabs his hand, tugging him down the hall towards his room. “I’ll lay with you while I write.”

Jiho falls asleep with his head on Minho’s thigh and the sound of his pen scratching on paper.

-.-

“This is…very personal,” Daniel says.

“I know,” Minho says.

Jiho watches from his studio couch as Daniel and Minho sit facing each other in their chairs, heads bowed close together as Daniel reads the lyrics. He scribbles a note in the margin and hands the journal back.

“Are you sure you want to use it on this of all things?” Daniel asks, leaning back and glancing between them.

“Do you really think YG would let me release this?” Minho asks.

Daniel sighs, leaning back in his chair and rocking side to side in his chair as he taps his fingers on the arms. “Not you, no. Me, sure. But we have different relationships with him and I’m quite aware of that.”

“I…” Jiho coughs, trying to make his throat loosen up. “When I composed the music, I was thinking about how I…” Both Daniel and Minho stare at him with increasing concern when his voice cracks and he takes a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling so he can get the rest of the words out. “I want to help make a track that helps people the way Amor Fati helped me, and I think with Minho’s lyrics and my producing maybe we’ve created that. Maybe this show doesn’t deserve it, but it should be put out there somehow.”

The silence that fills the space when he stops talking makes him nervous. The urge to say something, _anything_ , to fill it, is overwhelming and he has to bite the inside of his cheek before he makes it even worse. It’s not like he thinks he’s on Epik High’s level. He just…wants to strive for that.

“I didn’t realize it had helped you that much,” Daniel says after a moment.

Jiho nods and looks back at both him and Minho. “It did. I just…want to at least try to help create something like that.”

“That’s admirable,” Daniel says. “But are you comfortable with it, Minho?”

“Yeah,” Minho says. “I wouldn’t release this if it was made with anyone else, you know? I wouldn’t feel safe enough.”

The words rob all the air from Jiho’s lungs because he knows that Minho has chosen to trust him and over the last few weeks, he’s finally been that safe person for Minho to rely on when he’s hurt and upset. But hearing him say it so plainly…

“Well now I feel like I’ve intruded on a personal moment,” Daniel says.

“It’s not that personal, I’ve talked to you way too much about this,” Minho says.

The look Daniel gives Minho is one full of affection and Jiho’s racing heart slows down with the knowledge that they’re in good company. Daniel is someone they can both trust.

“Thank you both for trusting me with all that you have, I do take that very seriously,” Daniel says. “And I support you both if you want to move forward with this song, because I do think it could touch a lot of people’s hearts and be soothing for them to realize they aren’t the only ones afraid of these things.” He goes back to spinning lazily back and forth in his chair. “That being said, these kinds of performances can be difficult. Exposing your vulnerabilities in such a fashion is hard and you have to be ready for the backlash and be secure in yourself.”

Minho nods, expression serious. “I know that. And I think I am. I think I was before I even started this show but now more than ever just because I’ve done my best and some people still don’t like that. But I know what I’ve done and what I can do. Their opinion doesn’t change that.”

“Then I think you’ll both be just fine,” Daniel says. “Now. With all of that out of the way, I do want to point out an area where the lyrics feel a little clunky.”

-.-

Jiho is damn proud of their song, and he’s basically giddy over the fact that Minho and Daniel were able to convince Youngbae to feature on it. Part of it is just because he’s…a fan. The other part is because he can’t imagine a better voice for what they’ve created, and he feels like perhaps the song will reach the heights he wants it to.

“You did a nice job with this,” Sanghyun says as they break from rehearsal for food. “Although I’m not sure if having Taeyang here will help or hurt the performance when it comes to credibility.”

Jiho clicks his mic off and shrugs. “It’s like what we said before. It’s not necessarily about winning.”

Sanghyun grins at that, squeezes Jiho’s shoulder and then heads off down the hall. Minho and Youngbae both climb down off the stage and Jiho greets them both with a high five and hug, unable to stop his own beaming smile.

“You guys sound so fucking good,” he says.

“It’s not what I’m used to,” Youngbae says. “We try to be more…” He stops, offering a plastic-like smile. “Let’s grab some food, yeah?”

They stop by the lunch table and each grab a plate before heading away from the others, Jiho in the lead as he tries to locate an abandoned meeting room for them to get away from prying eyes and mics. Minho lets out an overdramatic groan and flops into one of the office chairs in the room Jiho finds them. Youngbae rolls his eyes, a small smile on his lips, as he takes a seat next to him.

“Was he always this dramatic or is it a new development?” Youngbae asks.

"Hey! I’m not dramatic, I’m exuding the perfect level of frustration of constantly being watched and listened to,” Minho says.

Youngbae stares at him, eyes stony but a smile tugging at his lips.

“You know that look doesn’t work on me anymore,” Minho says. “I know you too well.”

“These rookies grow up too fast,” Youngbae says to Jiho. “I feel disrespected.”

“Don’t look at me, I’ve never been able to control him,” Jiho says.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Youngbae says with a laugh.

By the time they’re done eating, Youngbae feels like a friend, settling into easy jokes and teasing in a way that helps settle the remainder of Jiho’s nerves about the whole song. He trusts Minho with it – he wrote the damn lyrics. Knowing Youngbae is on the same page helps.

“I don’t get why you two care so much about making a good impression on people,” Youngbae says as he gathers up their trash onto his plate. “But I’ll do what I can to help. You both deserve that.”

Jiho looks across the table, not remotely surprised to see Minho’s eyes welling up with tears. Even if he and Youngbae are friends now, the words mean a lot. Youngbae sighs when he sees and sets the plate back down before walking behind Minho’s chair and hugging him from behind, chin resting on top of his head. Minho clutches at his arm and hunches forward, sniffling.

“It’s going to work out. I’ll be right there on stage with you,” he says. “And Jiho will be there afterwards. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks,” Minho says, voice coming out watery and wet. “Both of you.”

“Of course,” Youngbae says. He gives him one more squeeze and then leans back, slapping a hand down against Minho’s chest. “Now come on, let’s go watch that annoying little shit’s rehearsal and see what we’re up against.”

Minho nods and gets up, heading out of the room as Jiho stands and Youngbae goes back to grab their trash. Before Jiho can follow him, Youngbae grabs his wrist. Jiho turns to look at him, heart kicking up a notch.

“Thanks for taking care of him so well during all this filming,” Youngbae says. “It’s been wearing down on him, but it’s good to know we can trust him with you even if YG doesn’t.”

“He…Minho’s well-being is always going to come first for me now,” Jiho says. “I promise.”

Youngbae’s gaze feels too all-knowing as he looks into Jiho’s eyes, but whatever he sees there he must be okay with because he just smiles and releases Jiho’s wrist. “Good.”

-.-

Minho performs their song. More than that, he wins. And maybe it’s corny, but Jiho falls in love with him all over again.

-.-

“Come home with us?”

Minho whispers the question in his ear when they hug backstage once their mics and wrap up interviews are done. Jiho swallows, the euphoria of their win fading in the face of…Minho’s dad. He hadn’t seen him or spoken with him since that night he’d first returned to Minho’s home with an apology a few years ago, the man’s look of disapproval haunting him enough that he didn’t have the courage to show his face again.

“Is your dad okay…with that?” he asks as he pulls away.

“Yeah,” Minho says with a nod. “I…they both know about uh…both of us.”

“Oh. So it’s…okay.” Jiho takes a deep breath and tries to smile. “Got it.”

Minho squeezes his shoulder. “Don’t be nervous. It’ll be fine.”

Jiho isn’t sure if he believes that, but not because he thinks Minho’s parents will treat him unfairly, but because he thinks they’ll treat him the way he deserves, or rather, _deserved_ depending on the person’s perspective. So he does his best to be gracious, paying for their transportation and the take out they order, even leaping up to get it when the doorbell rings when it arrives. The whole time, Minho watches him with a smile like he’s trying not to laugh.

Jiho doesn’t care if he makes a fool of himself. He just…wants forgiveness. He has Minho’s. But his parents matter too, and he wants them to like him. They’re important to Minho in a way fans and the media aren’t, so showing them he cares about Minho and by extension them is at the forefront of his mind. It isn’t until they’re all sitting around the dinner table eating their food that he can finally relax. This, at least, feels normal.

“So, that song,” Minho’s father says after a few minutes of silent eating. “It was very powerful.”

“He cried,” Minho’s mother says.

Minho’s eyes go wide, glancing between the two of them. “Really?”

His father shifts, coughing, and then clearing his throat before coughing again as his face goes red. Jiho can’t help but be comforted by the fact that they’re both uncomfortable.

“I didn’t want you to see,” his father says. “I knew you would…get upset and have trouble performing if you did.”

“He waited until you were back on stage,” his mother says, smiling when his father coughs again.

"It’s okay. I cried when he recorded it,” Jiho says.

Minho laughs, shoulders shaking as he turns back to his soup, stirring it. “You guys are ridiculous.”

"It’s not ridiculous,” Jiho says. “You…that song has the most honest lyrics you’ve ever put out, and we both care about you so of course it makes us…” He cuts himself off because he’s veering quickly into overly emotional territory that he isn’t sure he wants Minho’s parents to see.

“Caring about each other won’t stop the world from hating you if they find out.”

The smiles on Minho’s and Jiho’s lips vanish at Minho’s father’s words and they both look back at him. For a moment, Jiho struggles for the right words.

“If that happens…if that happens, I’m not going anywhere,” Jiho says. “I know as Minho’s parents, you must be upset with me, and I don’t know how much Minho has shared with you, but it’s no secret I haven’t been a good friend to him. I’m not going to say I’ll never hurt him again because I know that’s not really something I can promise. I can promise I’m never going to abandon him though. It doesn’t matter what happens.”

He hates that his voice quakes a little towards the end, but at least Minho’s father looks at him with something like respect.

“So it wasn’t just a song tonight, was it?” his father says.

“No, it wasn’t,” Minho says. “They’re my lyrics, but I know Jiho feels the same. Dad, we…we’re both scared about this and I know you just want what’s best for me. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. This is what I want. I’ll accept the consequences of that, and if it all goes wrong than it all goes wrong and I’ll pick myself up and keep going. I’m good at that. Jiho has my back and I have his.”

The words prompt the first genuine smile Jiho’s ever seen with his own two eyes on Minho’s father’s lips, as subdued as it is. “You’ve both grown up in the last few years.”

“I told you they did,” Minho’s mother says. “You just never listen.”

His father waves a hand dismissively. “Enough, enough, tell me more about your plans for the finale.”

Jiho lets out a breath of relief, smiling. Minho squeezes his knee under the table and then launches into an excited ramble about his ideas. Jiho does his best to listen, but it’s hard. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so happy.

-.-

Jiho wakes up at three in the morning with his mind racing and his heart pounding. He doesn’t remember the dream. He never really does on nights like this. It’s just anxiety. Minho shifts, arm tightening around Jiho’s waist before going loose again as he relaxes into sleep. Jiho waits a moment before wiggling free. He can tell sleep is far away. There’s no sense in trying when he’ll just wake Minho up with his tossing and turning. He makes sure Minho’s phone is on silent before texting him that he went for a walk and will be back soon.

He heads to the front door and pulls on his shoes and his beanie before tugging his face mask up. This late at night, there shouldn’t be any problems, but it can’t hurt. The summer night air is hot and sticky when he steps outside, pulling up the maps app on his phone and searching for the nearest church. It’s not that he’s really in a praying mood. It’s just…churches are good places to think too, not just pray and confess sins. Once he has one picked out, he heads off at a leisurely walk. The walking alone helps settle his nerves.

Part of him wonders how much the anxiety is from years of fear and denial. Will it go away now that he’s stopped running? Does it matter? He’s lived with it so long, even if it wasn’t something he was destined to grapple with, he thinks maybe it’s too engrained to ever go away. It doesn’t matter in the end. He’s managed so far.

The church is as understated as a Catholic church can get, which is to say not at all. He nods at the security guard wandering around the front and heads inside, eyes struggling to adjust to the dim hall. Candles line the wall along the back and he steps up to light one, murmuring a quick blessing under his breath before heading towards the pews. The city is big enough that despite the hour, it’s not empty. There’s a woman dressed in running attire praying at the altar. She doesn’t stir even when Jiho scuffs his feet loud enough to echo so as not to startle her later if she goes to leave. He settles into a pew in the back.

He thinks about Daniel. He thinks about that pain in the statement of Amor Fati. _“God doesn’t love me_.” Does he still feel that way? He said he no longer believed in or followed religion after what happened to him, and Jiho had been so wrapped up in his own worries, the weight of such a statement hadn’t truly hit him. Now, in the dead of night with his own problems finding some sort of resolution for the first time in years, he can’t help but think about it. It’s odd to think that it’s the words of a man whose faith in God had been taken from him were the same words that finally made him certain he was loved by that same God.

He supposes things don’t always work out the way he or others expect them to. It’s not like Daniel had been telling him to not believe in God, only telling him to really think about his actions and the motivations behind them. Jiho can’t think of anything he could go through that would make him lose his faith. Especially now. He thinks the Jiho from a few months ago would be upset with Daniel for no longer having faith, for letting the actions of others push him away from salvation and grace, but now…

It’s not really about seeking redemption or forgiveness, is it? He can’t imagine God would shun Daniel. Not when he spends so much of his time creating art that helps other people heal, helps other people grow closer to Him and His grace, whether he intends it or not. Perhaps Daniel doesn’t need that to be happy. It certainly seems that way. And at the end of the day, he supposes it isn’t any of his business. Daniel is happy as he is. Minho is happy as he is. And now, finally, Jiho knows he is too.

His phone pings, starling him out of his thoughts. Frowning, he glances down, expecting to see Minho’s name but instead seeing Dongwook’s.

_Dongwook: Are you up? (Sent 3:23 AM)_

_Jiho: yeah. At a church. Couldn’t sleep (Sent 3:23 AM)_

_Dongwook: address? Need to talk (Sent 3:23 AM)_

Jiho sends him his location, concern growing. It’s not unusual for Dongwook to be up this late, but he hadn’t expected him to head to where he is. It’s hard to think about anything else now. He wonders if he’s in danger, if something happened with where he’s been staying, or if he’s gotten in some sort of trouble, but those thoughts are useless. He can’t do anything until Dongwook shows up.

The woman at the altar stands up. She turns around, sparing him a quick glance before heading down the aisle and exiting out the big oak doors. They creak shut behind her, leaving Jiho in silence. He gets to his feet and makes his way up the aisle. He hadn’t come here with the intention of praying, but with Dongwook’s texts, he supposes it can’t hurt. He kneels at the altar, hands folded together, and bows his head.

Prayer feels different now that he’s stopped running. There’s not as many sins to be worried about, though he does still pray for strength to resist his baser instincts when it comes to anger and frustration. Tonight, he finds himself praying for Dongwook instead.

The church door creaks open awhile later, long enough that Jiho’s knees hurt. He shifts, wincing as he moves to sit on the steps in front of the altar instead, stretching his legs out and tugging his mask off to offer Dongwook a smile as he approaches. Dongwook doesn’t return it. He sits down on the steps beside him, legs up so he can brace his arms on his knees, head bowing between them. He doesn’t look much different from the last time Jiho saw him.

“What’s wrong?” Jiho asks, resisting the urge to reach out to him. Dongwook looks too tense.

“I…” Dongwook shakes his head, the shadow and his shaggy hair hiding his face, but his voice sounds shaky and strained. He lets out an odd noise, something like a laugh and a sob. His hands come up to cover his face, dragging down before he wipes his eyes against his sweater sleeve. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t do what?”

“This! Just sitting in limbo and not knowing if I should…” He swallows his own words and Jiho’s chest aches. Did Dongwook feel like this all those years ago when Jiho had been sick with his own fear and indecision?

“If you should make music?” Jiho asks.

Dongwook nods, the motion jerky and frantic. He lets out a rough breath, looking up at the ceiling and Jiho can see the tear tracks on his face. He shoves aside his hesitation and pulls Dongwook in, wrapping his arms tight when Dongwook crumples into him, shoulders shaking as he begins to cry in earnest.

“Why can’t you decide?” Jiho asks, voice soft.

“I’m…” Dongwook inhales, wet, fingers curling in Jiho’s t-shirt. “I’m so scared I’ll fail…”

Jiho swallows hard. He thinks of Minho, hours ago on a stage before people who hadn’t yet decided if they liked him, proclaiming he was afraid but that he wasn’t going to stop. He thinks of how Minho knows now that it’s okay to be afraid because Jiho has his back. After years of everyone having his back, Jiho can finally return the favor for all of them. For Dongwook.

“It’s okay to be afraid,” Jiho says, rubbing Dongwook’s back. “Everyone’s scared of failing to get the things they want most after working as hard as they can. But it’s okay.”

“How could it possibly be okay?”

Jiho pushes Dongwook back, holding his face in his hands and letting the remaining tears spill over his thumbs. “Because you have me and you have all your other friends, and even if you fail, we’ll still be here. You won’t be alone.” Dongwook’s expression pinches up as he begins to cry in earnest once more and Jiho hugs him close again. “You were there for me. Now let me be there for you.”

Dongwook doesn’t reply, but Jiho doesn’t need him to. They’ll worry about the details later. For now, he’ll just give Dongwook the space he needs to be afraid, and the rest will fall into place later.

He has faith in both of them.


End file.
